After reviewing the navigation logs, Emrys finally understood the full gravity of the situation and realized he had gravely misjudged this Necron Lord.
According to the machine spirit's logs, the Excalibur had encountered a rare Warp storm roughly half a day after his departure. This terrifying tempest unleashed the raw malice of the Chaos Gods, engulfing the vessel as if it were caught in a celestial maelstrom. Soon, the Gellar Field generator—the ship's only shield against the madness of the Immaterium—was shattered by the psychic violence. Without it, everyone on board was exposed to the naked Warp.
It was like venturing into the heart of a nuclear meltdown without a single scrap of lead shielding.
Within minutes, the lower decks—home to thousands of indentured serf-laborers and ratings—were overcome. The Warp twisted them into screaming, blasphemous abominations. The corruption did not stop with the flesh; iron spikes erupted from the bulkheads like jagged teeth, and nauseating, necrotic growths spread across the hull. The ship itself began to devour its crew. Steel and bone were forcibly fused, creating scenes of unspeakable, techno-organic horror.
Magos Biologis Carol, holding senior command at the time, acted with cold precision. She ordered the infected compartments purged and sealed, severing oxygen, power, and data-links to the lower levels. The Archmagos then retreated with essential personnel and materiel to the ship's Sanctum Sanctorum, establishing a desperate perimeter against the encroaching Chaos. From there, she dispatched Thor and the Silver Templars to retake the Gellar Field generator.
However, Carol had underestimated the sheer scale of the storm. They were within the Great Rift, where the influence of the Ruinous Powers is absolute. Gravity failed, physics warped, and the air grew thick with terrifying hallucinations. Had Morgana's prayers not manifested a miracle of golden light at the breaking point, the entire crew would have been corrupted long before Thor reached the generator.
"Thank you for saving my crew in their hour of need, Lord Thor," Emrys said, a chill of lingering fear running down his spine. He took a steadying breath and bowed slightly to the Necron.
"You are mistaken, human," Thor sneered, his metallic voice dripping with sarcasm. "It is I who should thank you. Thank you for not killing me."
Emrys was left speechless, managing only a strained, awkward smile. In such a nightmare, who wouldn't have assumed a Necron was the source of the trouble?
Yet, by the Emperor's grace, the Excalibur had escaped with only light corruption despite heavy casualties. Thor had even used stasis fields to pull key personnel into a pocket dimension, shielding them from the worst of the psychic fallout.
But a question remained. Emrys fell silent, studying Thor with a measuring gaze.
A Necron Lord—a high-ranking noble of an ancient empire—had chosen to forgo his status, disguised himself as a lowly Flayed One, and infiltrated a human vessel. There had to be a deeper scheme at play.
Beyond the reports of the Necron Tomb on Vigilus, Emrys recalled the 'Scarabs' he had encountered in the depths of the Roselle Hive. His mouth twitched. Surely he hadn't been targeted by that particular obsession? He couldn't imagine any other reason a Necron Lord would abandon his tomb and his dignity to live as a slave-laborer on a human ship, unless he served the "Infinite" collector himself.
Emrys pondered this while maintaining a diplomatic smile. "Well then, Lord Thor, do you have a means of extracting this ship from the Warp?"
For now, Thor was an asset. Once they reached realspace and the crew was safe, Emrys planned to find a way to distance himself from this walking time bomb.
"I do." Thor glanced at Emrys, his emerald oculars flashing as if reading his very thoughts. "I know that look, human. You intend to discard me the moment we transition to the Materium, don't you?"
Emrys' smile didn't reach his eyes, but he didn't look away. "At least we could part as allies. I'll even provide a shuttle for your return to Vigilus. No one wants a guest like you on their ship indefinitely."
A flicker of complex data-streams seemed to pass through Thor's glowing eyes before he let out a dry, metallic rasp that sounded like a sigh. "Based on your tone, you have already deduced who sent me. If you know him, then you understand—I cannot leave."
It was a grim truth. A Necron Lord was a god-like power to a human, but compared to Trazyn the Infinite, he was just another piece on a board. Trazyn was not a being one could simply say 'no' to without becoming a permanent museum exhibit.
"Besides, even if I leave, you won't escape his gaze," Thor added meaningfully. "Believe me, once he sets his sights on a specimen, you could flee to the Ghoul Stars and still find him waiting."
The realization was like stepping on something sticky and impossible to clean off. Emrys frowned, but Thor continued slowly, "Perhaps we should consider a formal cooperation."
"Cooperation?" Emrys asked, surprised.
"Precisely," Thor said calmly. "You allow me to remain on this vessel to complete my mandate. In return, I will assist you with... 'inconvenient' problems. Those tasks your own laws or lack of strength prevent you from handling."
Emrys felt a jolt of interest. He had to admit, the proposal was seductive. These were the Necrons—the former masters of the galaxy who had shattered the C'tan and turned star-gods into batteries. What problem could they not solve?
With a Necron Lord at his beck and call, Emrys could point Thor at any heretical obstacle, then claim he was merely 'purging the ranks' afterward. It was the ultimate political and military tool.
Thor, sensing the shift in Emrys' mood, added leisurely, "To be honest, I have no personal interest in you. If not for his command, I would still be on Vigilus researching the nature of the soul. As long as you don't interfere with my observations, I am happy to assist you within reason. Do we understand each other?"
Emrys understood perfectly. It was the ancient tradition of the disgruntled employee—do just enough work to satisfy the boss while slacking off as much as possible. Finding a 'quiet-quitting' Necron in the grim darkness of the far future gave Emrys a strange, nostalgic sense of comfort.
"Alright. We have a deal!" Emrys beamed.
If Trazyn was going to watch him anyway, he might as well get a high-tier bodyguard out of the arrangement.
"Excellent. I am beginning to find you tolerable, human." Thor sounded satisfied. At last, he could leave that gods-forsaken, stench-filled steerage cabin he'd been sharing with a dozen filthy ratings.
He didn't care what Trazyn thought of his methods. His mission was to watch Emrys; it didn't say he couldn't be comfortable while doing it.
And so, the human and the xenos reached an accord—an alliance born of mutual convenience and shared frustration with a meddling overlord. Had an Inquisitor witnessed the two of them standing there, they would have likely suffered a stroke before declaring an immediate Exterminatus.
"Praise be to the Necrons!"
This was Emrys' heartfelt exclamation after witnessing the true power of the ancient masters of the galaxy.
Thorzak released several swarms of Necron Scarabs from his pocket dimension. He watched with detached interest as they devoured the warp-flesh growing on the hull, multiplying at an astonishing rate as they converted the corruption into raw energy. Almost immediately, the Scarabs began to stitch the damaged sections of the ship back together with molecular precision.
"These things are incredibly efficient—"
Anyone familiar with Emrys would have recognized the glint in his eyes; he was clearly tempted to find a way to keep them.
"This is merely a temporary patch," Thorzak said, operating a holographic interface with indifferent ease. "Human ship-craft is primitive. It is difficult to repair such crude technology without leaving obvious xenos signatures. Once we transition to realspace, you will still need to find a forge world to overhaul the plasma drives properly."
"You're surprisingly thorough," Emrys noted, giving him a curious look. He hadn't expected the Necron Lord, who usually seemed so haughty, to be so meticulous about Imperial protocol.
If they weren't careful, the Excalibur would practically scream 'heresy' to any passing Inquisitor.
"Do not misunderstand, human," Thorzak sneered. "I simply have no desire to be dragged down by your incompetence. If you attract the Inquisition's scrutiny, it inconveniences me as well."
Though he had been in stasis for eons, Thorzak had absorbed the current state of the galaxy from the engrams of captured Chaos thralls. The Imperium of Man—while perhaps no match for the Necrons at their zenith—was a formidable and fanatical enemy in its current state. Wanting to minimize complications, Thorzak had no intention of being hounded by the Ordo Xenos before Trazyn arrived.
"Have you considered how you will explain the state of this vessel once we exit the Warp?" Thorzak asked, his strategic mind already calculating the fallout.
Emrys looked at him, genuinely puzzled. "Explain what? I am the head of a Great House. Do I need to explain myself to my subordinates? It is a mercy that I do not demand an explanation from them for failing to prevent the storm. Who would dare interrogate me?"
Thorzak fell silent. Emrys' perspective was arrogant, even by Necron standards, but it was true. With his current prestige, few would dare question him. Between his ruthless consolidation of the Merchant Dynasty and his political ties to the High Command on Vigilus—even earning the respect of Marneus Calgar—he was practically untouchable without ironclad evidence of heresy.
A few hours later, the Excalibur's engines thrummed back to life.
Thorzak donned his 'human' guise again, appearing as a senior deck officer, and stood beside Emrys. He released the crew members from their stasis fields.
Magos Carol looked haggard, her face etched with guilt when she saw Emrys. However, he moved quickly to comfort her, reminding her that a Warp storm of that magnitude was beyond mortal control. He noted that without her calm leadership in the Sanctum, the losses would have been total.
With a familiar, violent shudder, the ship's Machine Spirit fully awakened, regaining its grip on the vessel's course.
"Mark the nearest Mandeville Point and initiate emergency transition!" Emrys commanded.
Despite the heavy casualties among the ratings, the bridge crew managed the maneuver. With a final, bone-jarring vibration, the Excalibur tore its way out of the Immaterium and back into the cold embrace of realspace.
As the blast shutters retracted, they were greeted by the sight of a binary star system. Two stars locked in a gravitational dance dominated the view, but Emrys' attention was immediately drawn to the planet below. It was a Civilised World, but its surface was choked by the fires of global war. It was clear that this sector, cast into the darkness of the Imperium Nihilus, had been burning since the Great Rift opened.
"Establish a psychic link. Send an identification burst immediately," Emrys ordered the Astropaths.
In the war-torn Cryptus System, approaching a planet without clearance was a death sentence from orbital defense batteries. After a tense moment, a response flickered through the vox-casters.
"This is General Ross. We... we are grateful for your arrival," a voice crackled.
A holographic display flickered to life, showing a middle-aged officer in a battered military cap. His posture was ramrod straight despite his obvious exhaustion.
"Praise the God-Emperor, the Imperium has not abandoned us! Tell me, where is the rest of the relief force? Where are the reinforcements?"
Reinforcements? Emrys felt a sinking sensation. "Wait. General, first tell me exactly where we are."
"You are in the capital system of the Cryptus Shield," General Ross said, his voice deep with desperation. "This is the world of Bhikkhu. I am the commanding officer of the Astra Militarum forces here. We are currently holding the line against the shadow of the Hive Mind—Hive Fleet Leviathan is upon us!"
The Cryptus System... Emrys' heart hammered against his ribs. "The Cryptus Shield? You mean the 'Shield of Baal'?"
"Indeed," the General nodded. "Since the Rift opened, we have been besieged by both the Archenemy and the Tyranids. The Phodia and Lysios defenses have been overrun. We are the last bastion. We need those reinforcements immediately!"
Emrys checked the chronometer. M41.999. They hadn't just exited the Warp; they had arrived at the climax of the Cryptus Campaign.
"Look! The Angels! Praise be!" General Ross suddenly cried out, his face lit with ecstasy. "The Blood Angels' fleet! We are saved! The Emperor's own sons have arrived to deliver us!"
The words felt like a death sentence to Emrys. He turned stiffly toward the tactical display, cold sweat beading on his brow.
"Hundreds of Space Marine strike cruisers detected on long-range scanners," the vox-officer reported. "Identification codes confirmed: The Blood Angels and their Successor Chapters."
Emrys stared at the star map, his throat dry. "Throne of Terra..."
He knew the history. In late M41.999, after the failure to contain the Tyranids in the Cryptus System, Chapter Master Dante was forced to make a horrific choice. To save the Blood Angels' homeworld of Baal, he ordered the implementation of a scorched-earth policy. He emulated the Kryptman Protocol—Exterminatus on a system-wide scale.
By destroying every living world in the path of the Hive Fleet, they would starve Leviathan of biomass and force it to change course. And the primary target for this firestorm was the very world they were orbiting: Bhikkhu, a world home to over thirty-eight billion Imperial souls.