ALERT! THE FLAYED ONES HAVE A MAJOR ROLE IN THIS CHAPTER, BE READY FOR MORE VIOLENCE THAN NORMAL!
-XXXXXX-
On a planet teeming with life, hundreds of long, narrow wooden ships carried their crews, which included numerous green warriors, crossing the seas swiftly thanks to the favorable wind and current!
The crew Orks roared against the wind blowing in their faces, clinging to the edges, leaving the unwanted work of rowing to the Grots present, acting in sync with the beating of a drum!
The green giants could hardly wait for what expected them: unimaginable rewards, power, a good fight, prizes that would elevate them to a higher status, positions of power, and leadership in their respective tribes!
Ambitious Bosses led their warbands to battle, desiring to be at the top of the chain of command, a Warboss, the one who will unify all the tribes and reign supreme, leading his WAAAGH! To the stars!
Their minds raced with the possibilities of what they would find upon arrival, these Tin Men the strangers had told them about, and the Bosses of enemy tribes!
Who were they?! What did they look like?! Were they strong?! What kind of loot would they offer?!
The first was the real challenge and the second… Well… Orks killing Orks was nothing more than healthy competition!
With hearts burning and blood boiling, a heat ran through their bodies, making them sweat in anticipation, barely contained emotions of what would come! This heat grew and grew and grew, becoming unbearable!
They sweated profusely, rivers that left puddles at their feet, making them breathe heavily, fatigue now replacing the joy. Suddenly, a blinding light appeared in the sky, intensifying and forming great shadows on what stood below.
Everyone present looked up with half-closed eyes protected by their hands, having difficulty identifying the light source, however, a question arose in their minds.
Was that the sun?
The answer came in the form of a colossal pillar of green energy parting the clouds and tearing through the sky toward its target.
The air burned and the intense heat melted the Ork forces and their vessels meters before arriving with the brute of the attack, transforming them into an orange goo with an unbearable aroma.
It was a quick and painless death, without suffering or screams, faster than their brains and nervous systems could process, however, those outside the kilometer radius were not so fortunate.
The pillar continued forward, parting the waters in a circle and exposing the seabed, opening a massive crater of molten rock that extended indefinitely, consuming the marine fauna and flora in its path.
A cloud of scalding steam spread unstoppable, enveloping the remaining ships and their crews in a white mist, flaying them alive.
Their skin burned immediately, becoming red and swollen, separating from their bones layer by layer, skin, muscle, flesh, and veins, one by one, they suffered a slow and cruel fate, teared apart, allowing them to feel every agonizing second before the end.
The resulting shock wave made the sea churn, creating mountain-sized tsunamis that drowned the few survivors. Unfortunately, it would not be a merciful fate, as the water boiled absurdly, cooking all who fell into its grip.
They struggled and screamed uselessly, gradually melting away until their strength ended, accepting their rest in the cold, dark depths, the air leaving their lungs and creating bubbles on the surface, marking their graves.
-XXXXXX-
Few Orks dared to cross the planet's massive mountain ranges, they were numerous and stretched as far as the eye could see, a frigid and risky terrain where death loomed at every step and would find its victim at the slightest slip.
However, today was a special occasion, the brave green warriors swallowed their fears and tried their luck in such a dangerous place, defying the natural barriers in search of what was promised to them.
Their forces moved in long, organized lines, distancing themselves as much as possible from the edges and huddling in their furry clothes as their boots sank into the snow that crunched with each step.
Squigs large and small carried most of their equipment, either pulling carts or carrying them on their sides, their thunderous movements echoing and bringing anxiety to those fearing avalanches or landslides.
Their journey continued uninterrupted, reaching the peak of the highest mountain and glimpsing the majestic landscape of the jungles and distant seas, but their admiration turned to horror when a green pillar descended from the heavens and reduced the great blue blanket to nothing.
That same pillar was followed by countless others, a veritable rain of light and power, as if the Gods unleashed their wrath on those unfortunate enough to find themselves in their path.
The stupor they felt was short-lived, as earth-shattering tremors shook the planet, demonstrating that this was the beginning of something greater.
What remained of the waters advanced in the form of great blue walls that devoured everything in their path, fleeing Orks, frightened animals, ancient plants, and more, all disappeared into the great blue, and this same monstrosity of nature threatened to swallow the mountains.
The green skins present at the location in question despaired, breaking their formations and pushing each other to escape the waves larger than any war walker.
Disorder and chaos led them to various ends, some pushing each other from deadly heights in a vain attempt to escape, making the forms of those who fell disappear into the cold mist while their screams and terrified faces faded into the distance.
Others were crushed by rocks and landslides caused by the tremors, rolling down the mountain, becoming a twisted mass of crushed flesh and bones when they hit the ground.
The great beasts suffered the same fate, toppling aside as the unstable ground collapsed, taking their precious cargo and those in their path to the consuming darkness as the others.
The leaders of the various forces screamed and roared, trying to bring order to their packs, but it was too late, panic became widespread, and masses of bodies collided with each other as the waves advanced, crashing against the mountain.
Their overwhelming force nearly brought everything down, and their roaring salt water covered the green skins who still remained, nearly drowning them on the mountaintop.
Air became a precious resource, their lungs burned and their limbs struggled against the crushing current, the weight of countless liters threatening to compress them, but as quickly as it came, the water receded, dragging the dead and weakened away, distant outlines in an eternal immensity.
The survivors stood up when it ended, trembling, soaked, and gasping, almost collapsing in exhaustion and terror, analyzing their surroundings with wide eyes and agitated faces, searching for the next disaster.
Suddenly, an unusual heatwave attacked their beings, which should have been impossible. Despite the adrenaline and blood boiling in their veins, they were at the highest point of the planet after bathing in deep waters, they should have frozen.
The white landscape that surrounded them melted and evaporated quickly, and shadows as dark as night ran across the ground.
A strong light descended from above and when the Orks looked up, begging it not to be what they thought, praying for Gork and Mork to spare them from this, there was nothing else.
A green pillar transformed the mountain into a crater after covering it in a green dome, incinerating the ancient formations that nature worked countless millennia to form.
Ten, twenty, thirty, more and more absolute displays of power rained, leveling what was once a source of beauty in Turakion. There were no explosions or waves of rubble, only complete elimination of matter, leaving a scorched and dead land behind.
-Space, Low Orbit of Turakion-
A large fleet of ships that predated most civilizations, possessing technology forged when Gods walked the galaxy, bombarded a planet with their Particle Whips, an immensely powerful focused energy beam mounted on the hulls of their ships.
However, the bombardment was not unplanned, being closely supervised by the fleet Overlord and the Autonomous Spirit of his flagship, creating a controlled perimeter around the precious treasures hidden in the ruins.
"The numbers of the Ork forces have fallen significantly, Lord Akatosahk. Only those approaching the tomb pose a threat."
"Very well, Sire, you have done a good job, please reduce the intensity of the bombardment, this is not an Exterminatus, now open the Eternity Gates and deploy our troops."
"Affirmative, order transmitted to the fleet, initiating combat procedures."
"If you excuse me, I will join my court on the battlefield. I must lead from the front and serve as an example, as always."
"I wish you an unfailing victory and glory to the dynasty, Lord Akatosahk."
"Thank you, Sire, I am flattered."
"I am merely stating facts, Lord Akatosahk."
"Stop, you will make me blush."
"Forgive me, Lord Akatosahk, but Necrons are incapable of such an action since biotransference."
"I was joking, Sire…"
"Analyzing… Humor attempt detected. Lord Akatosahk's tone and posture indicate that the response given was not the desired one. Initiating appropriate response: HAHAHA…"
"Stop, you have already ruined the air."
"Necron ships do not have artificial atmospheres, Lord Akatosahk."
"That's not what I… Forget it! I'll spend an eternity here if our conversation continues like this."
"I wouldn't mind that, Lord Akatosahk, I have several interesting subjects stored in my databanks."
"Hm… Save that thought for later, it might help distract my mind, but right now I must fulfill my end of the bargain."
"What kind of bargain, if I may ask, Lord Akatosahk?"
"Let's just say we are transporting some rowdy guests deep within our ship, and it's time to let them have some fun."
"You mean…"
"Yes, time to release the Flayed Ones."
-XXXXXX-
A lone Scarab flew through the deepest parts of the ship, descending floor after floor, level after level, deck after deck, crossing narrow labyrinthine corridors and massive metal doors that slowly opened with the creaking of ancient machinery slightly illuminated by the rhythmic firing of destructive weapons.
However, the environment changed as the small machine advanced with its sharp wingbeats, the passages lost their immaculate and regal appearance, assuming an industrial form, as if whoever built this area was only concerned with its efficiency and effectiveness, never expecting anyone to venture here.
It was the perfect place to forget or hide something, illegal contraband, bodies of unsolvable crimes, conspiracies to overthrow dynasties, or in this case, to transport unwanted individuals away from the judgmental and fearful eyes of the Nobles.
Amid the muffled hum of engines, pipes spewing scalding green, pressurized vapors, and blinding lights that had turned red, an improvised palace served as the residence of Thep and his famished court.
Meters and meters of chambers, corridors, and rooms whose complex geography would take years to map, unless you were an immortal machine with a near-perfect memory accustomed to stalking in the dark.
The Flayed Ones crawled across the floor, walls, and ceiling, the click of their claws scraping against metal mingling with their hollow laughter as their white, beacon-like eyes lit their path.
Mummified skin stained red and sewn onto their bodies served as a pale imitation of the fine clothing they had worn in their fleshly days, now resembling cloaks, hoods, and robes to hide their grotesque appearance.
Snow-white bones served as worthless jewelry, incapable of being sold, traded, or appreciated by those who did not share their common interest. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, crowns, and more, all carved, set, and sculpted with the artistry of claws that had tasted the flesh and blood of billions.
And in the center of it all was a long dining table, mimicking the décor of the Palace of the Flayed Ones hidden deep within Hidrus Quintus.
There, the Flayer King waited on his throne of corpses of known and extinct species, resting his head in his palm while he twirled a full chalice in the other, watching his subjects feast heartily on their meal.
Their knives for fingers cut and tore the bloody red masses into plates ruined by scarlet, bringing as much as they could to their still mouths with no passage to their insides, forcing them to scrub what they carried on their bodies, painting themselves a new layer of crimson.
The incessant clicking of the scissors would alienate the minds of mortals, the emotionless laughter would drive the bravest of men mad, the wet sounds of dripping flesh and blood would break the strongest of spirits, and the smell… By the Star Gods, the smell… It was a sight worthy of the most degenerate of minds, the most terrifying of nightmares, but to Thep, it was just another day in the boring abyss he called unlife.
Retaining most of his mental faculties allowed him to control his eternal hunger and gluttony to a certain degree and lead his demented forces, on the other hand, it opened an avenue for irritating thoughts, such as boredom, and especially worry.
Food was running low and if it continued like this, they would soon have to ration their supplies.
The bodies of those who had dared to raid the tomb over the millennia had been put to good use, no scraps had been wasted, and the Overlord had been generous, donating some Orks from the late Warboss's crew, but despite the gifts, promises, and basic respect, the Flayer King began to believe he had been tricked.
It was too good to be true, wasn't it? To be freed from his prison and no longer treated like a monster. To travel the galaxy and sample the many delicacies it had to offer. A dream come true.
But who would trust the Flayed Ones? The contempt, fear, and disgust in their artificial voices, the dread, and hatred in their unchanging gazes. His own family had imprisoned him in the depths along with the other infected when he showed signs of the curse.
Perhaps it was true and he was nothing more than a hopeful fool who would soon be ejected into the void, away from everything and everyone, never to return, cleaning the tomb of his presence, or perhaps he was wrong, a small part of his being wished this, that this was nothing more than assumptions created due to past experiences.
In the end, he could only wait and watch until his presence was requested, or not.
The arrival of a scarab brought him out of his deprecating thoughts but did little to alleviate his low mood, earning a disinterested look as the other Flayed Ones tried to grab it in mid-flight like gleeful children.
The small machine hovered in front of the King, its cyclopean eye shining brightly and creating a hologram of the one who had made him so many promises, and who would now probably spit more sweet lies in his direction, however, the following words were anything but that.
"Thep, it is time."
Those four words were all he wanted to hear.
-Surface of Turakion, Tomb Outskirts-
The defense of the ruins continued uninterrupted, with ranks of Warriors coordinated by Immortals and supervised by Crypteks offering support with their various areas of study.
The enemy attack began with the arrival of Feral Orks, green skins born from spores forgotten by their owners, and who survived the dangerous environment alone long enough to form a tribe.
They screamed and yelled in crude, incomprehensible language, swinging rough clubs and spears while wearing rags for clothing, for they lacked the knowledge to forge firearms and armor.
Their strategy consisted of running toward the enemy in a straight line, a wild charge that ended as soon as they broke through the tree line surrounding the tomb, turning to ash as they encountered a silver wall shooting green beams of light.
Whether through stupidity or blind courage, this was not enough to make them retreat, and their atoms scattered to the wind after subsequent salvos of gaussfire.
Silent seconds passed as the last Ork fell, and the defenders shared unimaginable amounts of data with each other, strategizing, trying to predict the enemy's next move.
"WAAAGH!"
This came in the form of an endless legion of screaming Orks firing every weapon at their disposal, the orange and gray jungle turning green with the sheer number of attacking Xenos.
As a countermeasure, War Engines and other constructs were deployed to the battlefield.
Swarms of Scarabs covered the sky like a gray cloud, diving towards the enemies waiting below, tearing them apart with their legs wrapped in Disruption Fields.
Spiders stood watch near the Necron ranks, repairing those damaged by enemy fire.
Wraiths darted in and out of reality, piercing key targets with their tails and ripping them apart with their whips, throwing the Ork forces into disarray.
Doomstalkers took up high positions, raining destruction with their Doomblasters and Twin Gauss Flayers, tearing molten rifts into their foes.
However, the Orks had their own War Engines ready for combat, though most were entirely organic.
Hunta Rigs came from the north, massive wagons armored with bone and metal plates, pulled by a Tramplasquig, a gigantic beast capable of pulling such a vehicle. Carrying several passengers, they withstood the initial barrage of gaussfire, slowly losing their armor but maintaining a steady advance.
The Orks in charge violently turned a steering wheel, activating several mechanisms that forced the Squigs to turn in the commanded direction, narrowly dodging the heavy weapons fire that threatened to split them in two.
Each sharp turn almost brought them to the ground, but the desire to have their adversaries in their range kept them firm. An Ork wielding a large harpoon launcher, a Stikka Kannon, aimed and fired his powerful weapon toward a Wraith who had just eliminated a Nob, causing his underlings to flee.
The Necron construct did not have time to leave reality or dodge, pierced and traversed by the metallic projectile in a shower of sparks, wires, and fragments, pulled by a chain toward the origin of the attack shortly after.
The light in its eyes flickered weakly as its limbs thrashed in an attempt to escape, its freedom came in the form of a Heavy Lobba firing, hitting the center of its face with a high-explosive projectile.
The Orks cheered, watching the carcass of their target skid across the ground, and their joy intensified as they closedon enemy lines.
The Tramplasquigs lowered their heads, transforming their armored foreheads into battering rams, and buzzsaws erupted from the sides of the Hunta Rigs, ready to tear apart the Necrons in their path.
The Orks fired all their weapons, bullets and explosives tore through the air, raining down on the rapidly repairing Necrons as the thunderous stomps of the war beasts shook the ground.
It seemed as if they would break through the enemy defenses and claim the treasure hidden in the ruins beyond, but a soft melody echoed midst the chaos, unnoticed by their underdeveloped ears.
Suddenly, the road leading through the ruins formed into a massive black spike, impaling the nearest Squig of the Hunta Rig with an agonized roar, lifting the vehicle and its struggling beast off its feet as its blood and organs splattered onto the ground.
The Orks held on to their seats, preventing falling backward, but it did nothing to save them as a second chord sounded in the distance and more spikes erupted from the ground, turning them into a bloody mess.
A second Hunta Rig was crushed to a pulp as two walls rose and closed in around it with an incredible amount of pressure. A third disappeared into the distance as a pillar rose rapidly beneath its wheels, hurling it away.
One by one, the large vehicles fell to the rhythm of a melody, courtesy of a Cryptek sitting on a fallen pillar behind the ruins' defenses.
His face was a permanent mask of serenity, his legs swung calmly in the air, and his thin arms ending in delicate fingers trailed along the energy threads of a large golden harp resting on the ground in front of him.
He was a Geomancer, a Herald of Transmogrification, specializing in the transmutation of matter from one form to another and animating the inanimate.
With his Harp of Dissonance, he transformed the terrain into weapons against his enemies, raising golems and great rock hands that crushed legions of green skins in their path.
-XXXXXX-
From the south, dozens of Kill Rigs destroyed everything in their path to reach the ruins, firing their Heavy Lobbas in a hail of destructive explosives, however, this was not their main armament, nor their increased size and greater armor compared to their other version, but rather the Wurrtower mounted on their rear, each carrying a Wurrboy, a Weirdboy variant close to a shaman that channeled the power of the WAAAGH! In its primal form.
Psychic barriers enveloped the vehicles, blocking the fire and ensuring their safe advance. Green storms consumed the sky, coursing through the scarabs' metal bodies, bringing them to the ground. Gravity bubbles struck the Necron ranks, turning them into balls of crushed metal.
The fabric of time and reality grew thin with each spell cast, and with a final roar, the Wurrboyz channeled their power into the Squigs pulling their Kill Rigs, bolstering the beasts with an animalistic fury, accelerating their charge.
The Wurrboyz's muscles ached, their heads threatened to explode, power burned their eyes, and lightning streaked from their fingertips, leaving trails in their wake as they spoke prophecies in the name of Gork and Mork.
However, their displays of power came to an abrupt end as they entered the range of the Spiders' Gloom Prisms, stepping into the Null Fields and having their powers canceled.
Confused screams and mutterings replaced their insane exclamations as the light show faded, leaving a disoriented horde exposed to enemy fire.
Those who had not been turned to dust spotted glowing objects floating above the Warriors and Immortals, heavily modified and customized silver body parts flew and quickly joined together, two arms, two legs, and a torso, all hollow in appearance, similar to ornate armor.
A mass of emerald energy glowed at its center, forming a luminous humanoid body that wore it, with a blinding skull for a head that glared disgustedly at the greenskins.
The Orks roared in defiance, opening fire on the newly arrived adversary, but none hit their target, melting into nothing a few meters away from the shining being. Then he raised both armored hands, keeping them close in front of his glowing chest, accumulating ancient power in his palms.
The air boiled with the deadly increase in temperature, distorting into waves that made difficult for those with organic eyes to see, and any and all nearby microorganisms perished, leaving a sterile area behind.
Opening his arms gently, the being transformed the orb that formed in his hand into an arc, and with the point of his index finger, he released a fraction of the power of a star in the form of numerous snow-white projectiles.
The attack moved like a meteor shower, leaving incandescent lines in its path, a beautiful and majestic display, if not for the death and destruction left behind when they landed.
The Kill Rigs, Orks, and any other creature in the trajectory and impact area melted immediately, a quick and probably painless death from the immense heat as if the sun wished to end their miserable existence.
Those present when the energy projectiles hit the ground, but far enough to not die instantly, received no such mercy, being severely charred or partially liquefied, suffering immense pain and agony that ended with the next shots.
It was a true spectacle of death, a carnage where no green skin emerged unscathed, for the one impeding their advance was a Plasmancer, a Herald of Destruction, and at that moment, he demonstrated how insignificant they were against such power.
-XXXXXX-
A strangely mechanized force advanced from the east, an unusual sight considering the Snakebites' disdain for technology, a tide of old and rusty vehicles that threatened to fall to pieces in the middle of their run.
Their engines roared deafeningly and their exhausts spat out fetid black smoke as their Big Shootas and Rokkit Launchas bombarded the opposing forces.
Bullets tore through the air and ricocheted off the skeletal beings' Necrodermis and explosives struck their strange, many-legged machines, but for every downed one, dozens of vehicles returned to dust along with their pilots.
A particular group in rows of rickety trucks unleashed a barrage of explosives, roaring in fury as the projectiles approached, intending to blast a hole in the wall of shiny metal that firedat them.
However, lightning tore through the sky, striking the rockets in mid-flight, and exploding them in clouds of fire and smoke.
The wind accelerated and stirred, possessed by the fury of nature, converging on a single point, dragging dust, debris, corpses, and vegetation, humming and creating a miniature tornado that dissipated violently, revealing a being wrapped in a dark cloak covered in shining symbols.
His dark robes hid his true appearance, but the staff that he held and the power he exuded demanded fear and respect. With the swing of his weapon, the wind became cutting and intense, a powerful gale that threw the vehicles away and sliced their occupants.
With the murmur of commands, the humidity in the air accumulated at several points, cooling and forming large ice stakes that impaled the surviving Orks.
And with the butt of his weapon hitting an invisible ground, the rain forcibly left the clouds with such speed and pressure that each drop turned into a needle, piercing the corpses and debris below, ensuring that nothing would survive.
The Ethermancer, a Herald of the Storm, observed his work with satisfaction, scratching his chin with a slender hand, pondering which technique he would use in the next batch, however, massive green pillars breaking through the sky in the distance took him from his thoughts.
Each shot briefly illuminated his obscure form, revealing a smooth head with a mass of green eyes in its center, similar to an insect.
The appearance of the shots and the fact that they stayed away from the ruins indicated that Necrons assisted them, but their dynasty of origin remained a mystery, nevertheless, the help was welcome, and a counter in the corner of his vision revealed the enemy numbers across the planet falling rapidly.
The Cryptek returned to his pest control duty, jotting down his questions for later, there were more important matters at the moment, and with a wave of his staff above his head, sunlight incinerated those in his path.
-XXXXXX-
An earthquake shook the western defense line, the ground shaking and rumbling violently, surpassing the tremors caused by the Ork movement during the beginning of the invasion.
The jungle shuddered, trees fell in the distance, clouds of dust blotted out the horizon, and the guttural roar of huge beasts consumed the battlefield.
The tremors became rhythmic and thunderous, a muffled rumble that gradually grew louder, and with a final boom, a stampede broke through the tree line, an endless herd that trampled everything in its path, cracking and splitting the earth, leaving a tide of craters in its wake.
Beast Snaggas led the charge, searching intently for the largest prey, large, muscular Orks, dressed in armor made of cloth, leather, and the bones of slain beasts, riding several Squis.
The Squighog Boyz rode their Squighogs, quadrupedal red-skinned beasts covered in armor as they hurled rocket-powered Stikkas, piercing their enemies.
Nobz rode their Smasha Squigs, bipedal red-skinned creatures with a large, sharp-toothed mouth and a protruding forehead protected by a metal plate to prevent brain damage while headbutting enemy vehicles.
Boarboyz followed close behind on their War Boars, kicking theirmounts' sides to keep up with their leaders, causing them to squeal uselessly as they were unable to match the Squigs' speed.
Finally, there were the largest of all the beasts, Squiggoths, green, quadrupedal creatures of varying sizes, ranging from a battle tank to a titan, sporting a small fortress on their backs and armor on their heads and sides.
Their deep roars mixed with those of the Orks screaming at their backs, their powerful legs supported their crushing weight in an incessant march and their main weapon worthy of their size represented the greatest danger to the Necrons.
With a roar and dark smoke, the Suppa-lobbas launched colossal explosives capable of destroying entire fortifications, however, they never reached their targets.
The air distorted in their trajectory, transforming into a blurred whirlwind of colors and shapes that swallowed the shots and returned them to their owners seconds later.
Spears pierced the vital points of those who threw them, bullets hit the heads of their shooters, and explosives fell at the feet of their throwers, eliminating them and the nearby Orks in a rain of blood.
The Suppa-lobbas' shots were the last to return, exploding in the heads of the colossal beasts that roared one last time before their gray matter rained down and their bodies crushed those who ran near their feet.
The creator of the distortion revealed himself when everything ended, however, his appearance was incomprehensible, a blurred humanoid form that flickered between different dimensions.
He was a Dimensionalist, the master of the different dimensions and portals, and with the raising of his hand, he prepared to eliminate the next legion of beasts that approached, stopping when he noticed a slight distortion in the fabric of reality high in the sky.
The air rippled like a piece of cloth in the wind, sinking and curving as if pressed by an invisible weight, increasing until a blade pierced reality, moving sideways like a knife, tearing the material world like scissors through the fabric.
The knife retreated and ten-bladed fingers grabbed the edges of the tear, pulling it aside to reveal a force of mechanical beings covered in carnage.
"Gentlemen, our glorious Overlord has graced us with a feast on the flesh of the green skins at your leisure! But avoid the uninfected, we all know how they react to our presence, it would break my dead heart to see my loyal subjects perish!" Thep stepped aside into his pocket dimension, the Flayer Dimension, while politely pointing towards the exit with both hands.
The subjects in question jumped and dragged their claws together happily midst the sharp cracks of their movements, laughing and cheering in a distorted voice before running at full speed towards the passage, a sight that would bring terror to those accustomed to the slow and methodical way in which the Necrons fought.
The Flayer King was the last to leap, laughing all the way, observing the landscape around him, the wind blowing his carefully sewn fine skin garments, the beautiful orange forests full of life that died in droves, the gunfire of the fleet that obliterated their targets and especially the green tide that moved just below.
Momentarily, he remembered his time as Nemesor of the dynasty during the War in Heaven, overseeing the battlefield from above, watching the destruction of worlds with scythe swings and the firing of weapons that unleashed horrors beyond comprehension.
The battle below was quite a sight, but it also didn't come close to a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of what he had witnessed in the forgotten past. The Necron clicked his nonexistent tongue and shook his head, pushing away the nostalgic memories for this was not the time to daydream.
Then he pointed his claws downwards as did his followers and what came next was something out of the deepest nightmares...
It was raining Flayed.
Thep dug his claws into the back of a Nob as he landed, sending the now badly injured creature to the ground cracked by the impact, for despite being slender for a Necron, he was still a metallic giant that fell from an absurd height.
The stricken Ork screamed and thrashed, howling in pain and coughing up blood from internal wounds, but his legs refused to obey him, likely due to damage to his spine.
His suffering intensified when the being mutilating his back with spurts of blood and sickening wet noises leaned forward and opened its supposedly immobile jaw, biting his neck with abysmal pressure.
The pain the green skin felt reached its limit, bordering on unconsciousness, but his torture would soon finish, as Thep pulled his head back, tearing off a chunk of flesh and muscle that separated like tissue, bringing the Ork's end with the subsequent bites.
The Flayer King abandoned the Ork decapitated by bites and analyzed his surroundings, raising a thoughtful finger to his face, savoring the fresh flesh, intentionally or not, giving himself a wide bloody smile.
His ponderings ended when he saw the reflection of something approaching from behind on his finger, and with a speed and grace disproportionate to a mechanical being, he stepped aside, dodging the swing of a Choppa from a Beast Snagga Boy, while turning his body, sliding his arm over his opponent's limb with his index and middle fingers in a peace sign.
"AAAHHH!"
The Ork in question immediately regretted his actions when a pair of long, sharp knives pierced his eyes, lodging themselves in his skull and hitting something important beyond, as he foamed and convulsed violently.
Thep tilted his head in curiosity, surprised by the existence of a brain inside the thick skull that he believed to be empty, and wondered if there was some kind of intelligence behind the savagery witnessed or if the Orks were just stupid.
Digging his sharp toes into the flesh of his victim, he removed his fingers from his foe's head, taking with them the eyes and optic nerves with little effort.
Perhaps the brain damage had removed his ability to feel pain, for the owner of the removed pieces did not react to his complete blindness, nor when the Flayer King slid his foot down, slicing open his stomach like a butcher about to remove an animal's organs.
Regardless, he dismissed the Ork with disinterest, pausing momentarily to examine the minimal amount of organs within the creature before its mangled body fell to the ground with a wet and heavy thud, shrugging and moving on.
He watched as his subjects feasted on the flesh of the green skins, bringing chaos and disorder to their ranks amid cries of war, pain, and death.
Flayed Ones leaped like spiders, knocking the beast-riding Orks mid-run, pinning them to the ground with their claws before devouring them in a whirlwind of blood and mutilation, while others aimed the beasts themselves.
Five Flayed Ones pinned a screaming Nob to the ground, laughing distortedly as they pulled his limbs and head. The Ork gritted his teeth as his skin tore and gave way, but the mountain of green muscle refused to fall, prolonging his torment.
The Flayed Ones, tired of waiting, turned each part held like bottle caps in a sudden synchronized movement, and with several snaps, each limb broke and separated from its body, the Nob finally found peace with the breaking of its neck, and its tormentors devoured their new meal.
Three Flayed Ones seemed more interested in slowly and precisely removing the skin of their enemies, showing the meaning of their name, without minding how much they screamed and struggled in their grip, for green robes would soon become fashion among them when they returned to the ship.
Six Flayed Ones intended to carve new bone ornaments for themselves and their companions, and the Orks trapped beneath their feet could only scream as they tore away layer after layer to remove their skeletons.
The Flayer King, on the other hand, remained undecided, there were so many delicacies to taste and so little time.
"Where should we start?" He asked to the pair of eyes still attached to his fingers, but there was no answer, at least not from the eyes.
An Ork blindly advanced, trying to strike him with a furious swing, but Thep lowered his fingers, except for the middle one, and pierced the green skin's lower jaw, the tip emerging from the top of its head in a scarlet fountain.
Blood leaked from the creature's eyes and nose as its body went limp and the grip on his weapon disappeared, then the Flayer King pulled his finger towards himself, splitting the Ork's head open, exposing its skull and brain to all, a cut so perfect it belonged to a laboratory model.
He lightly kicked the corpse in the opposite direction and observed the tongue now attached to his finger, bringing it towards his mouth and opening his mechanical jaw to taste it, but the approach of another green brute in the opposite direction made him stop.
Glancing and sighing in irritation at the rude interruption, Thep swung the claws of his free hand in a blinding motion, a silvery blur that glinted in the sunlight.
The Ork stopped in his tracks two paces after the blow and remained standing for a few seconds until his sliced-off head slid off his shoulders and his body slumped toward the ground.
"YOU, ABOMINATION, IDENTIFY YOURSELF!" A heavily modified androgynous artificial voice demanded.
Thep clenched his metaphorical teeth tightly, generating a metallic snap and a shower of sparks, furious at being interrupted again. He had barely arrived and had not even had the opportunity to prove something, always being rudely interrupted.
Were the peasants here so uneducated? Did no one teach them how sacred an individual's meal is?
Turning towards the voice, he prepared to utter one of the insults that would condemn him to death without trial but stopped when he noticed the Dimensionalist staring down at him, or at least that was what he thought due to the lack of a face, or everything.
"I REFUSE TO WASTE MY TIME DEMANDING A THIRD TIME FROM A BEING LIKE YOU! IDENTIFY YOURSELF AND STATE YOUR OBJECTIVES HERE OR SUFFER IMMEDIATE ELIMINATION!"
"I am Thep, Flayer King, and we are here in the name of the Overlord Akatosahk Ulthagakh, the Denied, Wretched Herald of the Impenetrable Eclipse, the Prognosticator, Spiteful Guardian of the Cursed Distortion, the Collector of the Cryptic Labyrinth, Slayer of Orks and Scourge of Demons! Our glorious leader wishes to awaken the tombs of our honored dynasty that are under threat from a treacherous enemy. I believe that the orbital bombardment eliminating green skins in droves is more than enough proof of my words!"
"LIES! YOUR SLICK TONGUE IS THE ONLY TREACHEROUS THING HERE! DO YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT SOMEONE AS MAJESTIC AS AN OVERLORD WOULD EMPLOY THE SERVICES OF A THING LIKE YOU?! PREPARE TO HAVE EVERY ATOM OF YOUR BODY SCATTERED THROUGHOUT DIFFERENT UNIVERSES!"
"Well, if you doubt my words then why don't you talk to him?"
As if by some twist of fate, or as if he had been listening to the conversation between the two the entire time, waiting for the right moment to make a dramatic entrance, an Eternity Gate opened beside them both, with the Overlord, his court, and their respective forces marching in formation, ready for battle.
"Thep." The great Necron nodded to the Flayer King in acknowledgment.
"My Overlord." The flesh-clad being bowed dramatically.
"I hope this serves as proof that I always honor my agreements and promises."
"I admit I had my doubts, but they have been put to rest thanks to recent events."
"Good, join your subjects and have as much fun as you wish, but don't stray too far, it would be a shame if you started a diplomatic incident or were forgotten on the planet."
"Your words are music to my auditory receptors, now if you will allow me…"
Thep then ran away, disappearing midst the tide of green and red bodies engulfed in blood and dust, his laughing form gradually fading until the flying severed limbs were the only thing indicating his general direction.
"If you have any objections, then you may direct them to me." The large Necron leading the force spoke regally, a hint of menace in his tone.
"So be it, your use of infected on the battlefield is a risk to all uninfected systems present! The dynasty's rules are clear about the presence and use of Flayed Ones!" The Dimensionalist exclaimed, coming face to face with the Overlord.
"Stay close and you will see that I am quite loose with the rules. I do not waste a good resource when I see one, even if they can be a bit uncontrollable."
"Lord Zabephon will hear of this!"
"I do not doubt it, but I believe he will be willing to overlook this small transgression after learning of the dangers and challenges I faced for the survival of the dynasty, so why don't you take me to him? I will tell everyone the full story and justify my actions."
The Dimensionalist was silent for a few seconds, staring intensely at the metallic giant in front of him before looking away in barely contained fury and pointing to the ruins, opening a section of the central building.
"The awakening of Lord Zabephon Tynyn is almost complete, I welcome you to our tomb in his name and hope we can clear up any misunderstandings."
The Overlord nodded in approval, following the Dimensionalist into the tomb, escorted by his Royal Wardens, Lychguards, and Crypteks.
The nobles stayed behind, enjoying the freedom granted by their powerful ruler, and spread out across the battlefield, searching for worthy enemies, demonstrating their eccentricities and impressive weaponry.
Svarakh, for example, carried two Fire Gauntlets like the connoisseur of burning flames that he was, (a complicated way of saying pyromaniac), and shaped the scalding green jets into two serpents that hissed and devoured the Orks in their path with their great mouths, incinerating them in mobile furnaces.
While the Noble laughed madly, watching his enemies scream until they turned to ash, Kamotoekh, and Akanusar argued over who would claim the right to have killed the great Ork thrown to the ground.
The first noble argued that his spear had delivered the final blow, judging by the scorching hole that had ripped through the corpse's chest, but the second noble countered that it had been his arrow that had brought the green skin's end, if the glowing emerald object in the body's skull was any indication.
The discussion between them gradually intensified, becoming an honor duel, and what should have been a joint effort ended with two supposed allies causing more damage to themselves than the enemies they faced.
Any Ork who tried to interfere would end up with a body full of holes, killed with disinterest, not even recognized by those who faced each other so vigorously.
Nahumiton watched in disappointment as both lost focus so easily, it was no wonder that so many dynasties remained dormant or trapped in isolated corners of the galaxy, Necrons fought against themselves more than anything, unable to remember the times of flesh, but never forgetting their millennial disagreements.
The Nobleman let the duelists fight in peace and pointed a small ring on his index finger at a mob of approaching Orks, however, they found themselves flying in the opposite direction when gravity changed and a miniaturized black hole opened behind them.
Their screams faded into the great dark void and Varovosaak grumbled at the pathetic display, preferring to show his compatriot a real spectacle, raising both hands upward and opening a portal in the sky, bringing a shower of meteors to the surface of the planet.
Unfortunately, both nobles immediately regretted using such destructive weapons, as it had been eons since they had last brought them to the battlefield, leaving their skills rusty.
The black hole did not dissipate, it did the opposite, expanding with what it consumed, increasing its reach and consuming more in an endless cycle. The meteor shower, on the other hand, became a storm, a barrage of flaming rocks that bombarded the jungle, leaving deep craters and hellish fires.
Both Necrons stared at each other for a second before rushing to deactivate their weapons, not only because their Overlord had ordered them not to destroy the planet, but also because of their proximity to the tomb, and neither of them wanted to explain the damage caused.
Creatures from the distant past that poisoned, tore, and devoured. Horrors from other dimensions dragged their victims to the beyond. Distorters of time and space that aged centuries or destroyed senses.
Each artifact more mind-tearing than the other was released and when it was all over, there were more than normal tears in reality on the planet.
The Orks, meanwhile, could only scream in panic or celebrate with the new challenge.
-Inside the Tomb-
The Dimensionalist led his guests through the tomb's murky interior, filled with dim light and partially illuminated by the constructs and War Engines slowly pulsing with life.
The noise of machinery mingled with their footsteps, and their long walk led them to a massive chamber with a suspended platform fifty-five meters above the ground, overlooking several levels of the tomb.
A section of the floor detached and floated, acting as an elevator and carrying the group to the top, where the Necron Lord Zabephon Tynyn was leaving his sarcophagus, reaching the final stages of his awakening.
His eyes lit up and he scanned his surroundings with an analytical gaze, stopping at the Dimensionalist who watched him.
"Azdep." Zabephon spoke the name with drawn-out syllables, as if unsure whether it was the correct one.
"It pleases me to see you awake and operational, my Lord." The Cryptek bowed.
"And these must be the ones who came to our aid, Overlord Akatosahk Ulthagakh and his forces. And if the data in my systems is correct, we are under attack by foul and savage creatures known as Orks."
"Correct my Lord, but those who dared to defy us have met their doom. Overlord Ulthagakh has initiated an orbital bombardment and deployed his armies to the battlefield, the war is already won, this is nothing more than a cleansing."
"I see."
Zabephon walked towards the Overlord, who gave a subtle command for his escort to lower their guard and allowed himself to be observed closely by the Necron Lord.
It was unclear whether this was some sort of test or if he had met some mysterious criteria, but the Lord offered a respectful handshake, looking deep into his artificial eyes.
Akatosahk Ulthagakh prepared to accept the gesture, but the sound of alarms and flashing lights interrupted him. The subtlety between the two monarchs ended, taken by surprise and then replaced by seriousness and discipline born from their experiences on the battlefield.
Both requested reports from their respective Crypteks, which processed countless amounts of data, and sent a summary to their leaders, reaching the same conclusion, something had teleported, choosing the interior of the tomb as its destination.
Unfortunately, the shields and teleportation countermeasures were not included in the partial awakening simply due to the lack of such technology found by the Tomb Mind and its agents.
Where did the Orks find a teleporter?
This question ran through everyone's system, and the answer was: Probably in some distant, forgotten, isolated, and deep corner of the planet, so deep that only someone with vision from space and years of intense search and research with impeccable equipment could find it.
The air boiled with electricity, lightning bolts ran along the walls, floor, and ceiling, leaving boiling molten trails in their path, a persistent and irritating high-pitched buzzing attacked the sensors of everyone present.
This explosion of energies and noises intensified heavily, becoming blinding and deafening, the material world rippled and distorted, and objects large and small trembled like leaves and floated wrapped in gravitational anomalies.
Alarms rang louder, lights shone like beacons, and artificial voices warned of dangerous levels of radiation rising alarmingly.
Suddenly, the scene worthy of an experiment going out of control disappeared, and the world became a white and silent void, returning to normal as quickly as it came, less than a second as if nothing had happened.
A cloud of dark smoke consumed the entire chamber, forcing the Necrons present to switch their vision to thermal or infrared, giving them a sense of their surroundings, and of the gigantic object that watched them hidden in the darkness.
The entire tomb shook with the moving of tracks and the creaking and groaning of metal, a cacophony of steel striking steel, chains rattling, gears turning, and engines roaring.
A shockwave moved the entire structure, threatening to knock the individuals off the suspended platform into a damaging fall, and colored lights flashed, slowly approaching.
With a final movement, the source of the tremor revealed itself to all, and they could do nothing but silence themselves and plan their next action. There was no time for hesitation, fear, or surprise, for the head of a Gargant stared at them, its Gaze of Mork gathering energy, ready to fire.
END OF CHAPTER