At this very moment.
Tens of light-years away from that patch of void destined to turn into an apocalyptic battlefield, the Song of Oblivion floated silently in the endless dark.
Szarekh, the Silent King, remained seated upon his jet-black throne.
His cold face betrayed no emotion, yet his hands were clenched into tight fists, the necrodermis knuckles emitting a faint vibration in the stillness.
What differed now was that the space behind his throne stood completely empty.
That writhing humanoid energy entity that had once burned so fiercely—the C'tan Shard of Nyadra'zatha the Burning One, held by the Silent King and all Necrons as a testament to their glory—was nowhere to be found.
---
Clear images still lingered within the Silent King's memory arrays.
Those tentacles.
Those biological tendrils, steeped in terrifying Warp psychic energy, reaching out from the deepest depths of the Hive Fleet.
Like chains from an ancient nightmare, they wrapped tightly around the Burning One's C'tan Shard—which Szarekh had voluntarily released—and began to drain it.
The C'tan Shard, defeated and bound by the Silent King's own hands for tens of millions of years, had ultimately become nourishment for the Great Devourer.
Seizing that window of opportunity, the remaining Necron fleet made a successful retreat, now gathering around the Song of Oblivion.
Those tomb ships, once angular, cold, and solemn, were mostly battered and scarred.
Their blackstone structures were covered in hideous fissures scorched by bio-plasma, faintly flickering with intermittent, ghostly green light.
Inside the chamber, several Cryptek stood respectfully below the throne.
They looked at one another, sinking into an uncomfortable silence.
The Cryptek knew full well that a single superfluous word right now could trigger the wrath of the Master of the Triarch.
Yet, the Silent King did not explode in anger.
He merely felt frustrated.
Throughout his sixty-million-year exile—across a span of time long enough for stars to be born—he had conquered countless civilizations and savage worlds.
Those foes who considered themselves mighty had shattered like wet paper before his tomb fleets.
He had dealt with these so-called "beasts" before, having led armies to purge more than one Tyranid tendril fleet.
To the Silent King, such creatures possessed quantity but lacked quality; they were utterly unqualified to be mentioned in the same breath as an ancient overlord who had fought in the War in Heaven.
So this time, he had not backed down either.
He had chosen to charge straight in.
And as a result, he suffered a bitter setback.
The Silent King had to admit it.
In his mind, he slowly retraced the course of the battle.
Indeed, he had made a mistake.
First, he should not have treated the Great Devourer as a mere mindless beast of sheer numbers.
It turned out that behind those sky-blotting swarms lay a singular consciousness.
That entity's capacity to interfere with realspace far exceeded his estimations—in some ways, it was more direct, more violent than those Ruinous Powers behind the Veil.
Perhaps even stronger.
It was this very consciousness that, at the crucial moment when he was about to launch his decisive assault, dragged all battle variables into an indescribable dimension.
The swarms seemed to gain combat capabilities that defied all logic, causing him to lose a vast portion of his fleet in an instant.
The Silent King was forced to issue the command to retreat.
Spoken words could not be taken back.
He had made far too grand a claim beforehand.
It seemed that upon returning to the galaxy, he would need to find a way to re-establish the "Triarch."
The so-called Triarch was essentially finding two mouthpieces—selecting two Necron Lords who were willing to listen or could be controlled, letting them stand out front to relay decrees, while the Silent King himself remained silent.
This was also one of the true origins behind his title, "The Silent King."
Putting that topic aside for the moment, the Silent King raised his head and looked toward the Cryptek below.
"Activate all observation arrays now."
The Silent King's voice resonated with unquestionable authority.
"I need to observe the distant battlefield. Immediately."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
All the Cryptek complied instantly.
Tens of thousands of hyperspace wide-area sensors spun up to full capacity. The distant scene of void warfare—captured by Necron scanning technology capable of precise sweeps across tens of thousands of light-years—was fed directly into the Silent King's consciousness array.
Then, the Silent King fell silent.
In that distant void, the war had entered a phase beyond all realm of reason.
Countless beams of energy bloomed and vanished in the dark like a grand pyrotechnic funeral. Fragments of chitinous carapaces and remnants of the Hive Fleet splashed through the void, so dense that any observer would feel smothered.
And right at the center of it all, the Silent King saw a silhouette.
That figure was moving at speeds exceeding light itself.
It was as though every law of physics before him was a lie that could be rewritten at whim.
The figure strolled through the void as if taking a casual walk, crossing vast distances, leaping trillions of kilometers in moments.
At that moment, through some unknown phenomenon, both the Silent King and the Cryptek heard a strange-sounding language echo once more.
The figure spoke again, his voice spreading across the entire starway in an unknown manner, just as it had when he first appeared.
The Silent King—naturally—could not understand a word.
Unlike before, this sounded like no language recorded in any database, making analysis impossible.
However, if a museum curator versed in ancient Human history were present, they would likely be dumbfounded, incredulous, and completely unable to keep a straight face.
"First, I invoke the Brother Emperor to enter my frame, golden light pouring into the crown to show divine power~"
"Second, I summon Little Brother Khorne to my side, raising the blood flag above the Brass Throne~"
"Third, I ask Old Immortal Tzeentch to cast the divinations, echoing chants throughout the Crystal Labyrinth~"
"Fourth, I invite Grandfather Nurgle to shower plagues down, watering all life with puss and dew~"
"Fifth, I summon Lady Slaanesh down from her jade terrace, captivating the mind with six worldly desires~"
Along with the strange chants in an ancient Terran tongue, countless extraordinary phenomena unfolded between the figure's fingers. War, mystery, life, desire, destruction—shadows and lights expanded, enveloping the cosmos.
Like blooming flowers—except those blossoms were watered by death and blood.
Adam swung his arm.
Every sweep brought down thousands of Hive Fleet bio-ships simultaneously.
Those colossal living vessels, large enough to swallow planets, were as fragile as paper boats in the hands of a child before a reality-warper.
He wove through the gaps in the swarm, leaving behind nothing but burning wreckage wherever he went, creating a river of death paved with corpses in the void.
The Silent King watched it all in silence.
He tuned the resolution of his observation arrays to the absolute maximum, breaking down, analyzing, and categorizing every movement of that silhouette.
Warp phenomena, realspace physics, and even unknown fluctuations that his database couldn't identify.
Clearly, the predatory fleet's vast numbers—an assault capable of exhausting the firepower of any civilization—were as futile as waves crashing against a cliff before that figure.
The Silent King remained silent.
To be honest, he didn't get it.
What on earth was that?
Below him, the Cryptek exchanged glances, unable to comprehend the shock their king was experiencing.
They simply submitted their analytical findings respectfully and in full detail.
"Based on image energy signatures, the specific attributes of this entity cannot be determined. Our sensors have detected Warp psychics, C'tan powers, high-energy particles, and multiple unclassified energy signatures. The spectral complexity exceeds the processing limits of our current databases."
"However, judging solely by visual morphology, the entity currently engaged with the faction codenamed 'Great Devourer' should be... a human. Database cross-referencing indicates its physical characteristics closely match individuals belonging to the Imperium of Man."
"...Human?"
The Silent King finally spoke.
For the first time, his voice carried an indescribable sense of bewilderment.
"You are saying... that thing is a human?"
The Cryptek below immediately gave a firm confirmation.
Silence settled briefly over the chamber.
For an ancient overlord whose processing speeds far exceeded any civilization's limits, this was an exceptionally long pause.
Without a doubt, it wasn't as if the Silent King didn't know about the human race.
Know them? Ten thousand years ago, he had secretly returned to the galaxy and even shared wine and conversation with Sanguinius, the winged Primarch.
The Silent King had always held high regard for that individual, considering him one of the few beings in the galaxy worth respecting since the War in Heaven.
Yet it was precisely because he knew the Imperium of Man that he found this impossible to comprehend.
What human?
That is a human?
You call that thing a human?
Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.
Could that be the father Sanguinius had spoken of?
That corpse tweaking with sorcery?
The Silent King considered it for a moment before quickly dismissing the notion.
Necrons were naturally capable of detecting Warp signatures.
On the planet named Terra within the galaxy, the light of the Astronomican burned like a pillar of flame piercing the heavens; even Necron sensors far outside the galaxy could precisely pinpoint its frequency. That was the signal emitted by the Emperor.
The Emperor was still on the Golden Throne.
Meanwhile, the signal from this figure before them was entirely different.
What was going on?
The Silent King's logic arrays ran at maximum speed, running through, evaluating, and rejecting millions of possibilities in nanoseconds. Yet no matter how he calculated, he couldn't arrive at a satisfying answer.
It made no sense.
It was entirely irrational.
Thus, he made a swift decision.
"Regroup my forces now and alter our course. We proceed into the galaxy immediately."
The Silent King looked down at the Cryptek, his voice cold, decisive, and leaving no room for doubt.
"Facing such a threat, we must gather the entire strength of the Necrons. Isolated dynasties are meaningless; scattered tomb worlds are even more so. Execute the order immediately—I need to recall my people and make the Necrons great again."
"By your command, Sire."
The Cryptek bowed respectfully and swiftly began deployment.
The Silent King returned his gaze to the distant battlefield.
Under the figure's rampage, the main Tyranid fleet was actually showing signs of retreat.
Yet the Silent King's gaze grew heavier—because his sensors told him that deep within the endless swarm, that singular consciousness was brewing a far stronger reaction.
The outcome of this war was far from decided.
Or rather, it would take a long time before a winner emerged.
He pulled back his vision.
"Furthermore, check for me: which Necron dynasties within the galaxy have already awakened?"
The Silent King's command spread across the hyper-dimensional network.
The entire fleet began to move; the remaining blackstone structures lit up with ghostly green light as their inertialess engines began preheating.
Barely a few nanoseconds later, the system returned its query results.
The Silent King stared at the output and slowly raised a question mark.
The data read:
At this moment, the percentage of detected Necron awakening signals across the entire galaxy has reached a level that even the Silent King himself finds unbelievable.
—70%.
What?
How was this possible?
A answer flashed through the Silent King's thought arrays.
The recall mandate.
He had indeed broadcast a hyper-dimensional summons to all tomb worlds while outside the galaxy, ordering them to return and gather.
Yet, even with that mandate, given how deeply his kin slept, how could those dormant dynasties have awakened so quickly?
It had barely been an hour!
The Silent King immediately formed a judgment.
Something was definitely pulling the strings behind this!
---
"Achoo!"
On the other side of the cosmos, within the galaxy, a barren planet floated alone in a dead patch of void.
Its surface was covered in impact craters and lava plains that had cooled for eons—no atmosphere, no water, no sign of life whatsoever.
Even human colonists and Orks, spreading through the galaxy like cancer, held zero interest in this worthless rock.
Yet at this moment, Erebus suddenly sneezed violently on the planet's surface.
He snapped his head up, his face—carved with Chaos runes—dripping with paranoia.
Erebus looked around vigilantly, as if an Inquisition assassin might jump out from behind a rock to take his head the next second.
"Who's talking about me?"
He muttered to himself, his cunning eyes darting back and forth.
The idea that sneezing meant someone was talking behind your back wasn't entirely baseless in terms of Warp metaphysics.
For someone like Erebus, who possessed an extremely high affinity for the Warp, it could even be considered a passive psychic reaction.
Though everything was relative.
Soon, however, this Chaos envoy recalled the long list of "glorious achievements" he had racked up over his career.
For Erebus, the number of people talking behind his back was far too vast to count—so vast that he couldn't even be bothered to care anymore.
So, he casually tossed the omen to the back of his mind.
Erebus turned his head slowly to look at the silent back beside him.
Lorgar stood at his side.
The genetic father of the Word Bearers, now a Daemon Primarch serving the Chaos Gods, stood with his hands behind his back, gazing down at the dead wasteland beneath his feet.
"So..."
Erebus spoke, his voice filled with lingering shock and a trace of excitement he couldn't entirely hide.
"How did you know the locations of those Necrons?"
Rumbling explosions echoed out as the rocky planet began to undergo earth-shattering changes.
Deep cracks tore across the ground like turtle shells; it looked as if the entire planet was about to detonate. Something long dead was preparing to burst forth from deep beneath the crust.
Even when faced with such a terrifying scene, Erebus remained completely unfazed.
He had grown accustomed to such sights lately.
As he spoke, Erebus glanced down at the dataslate in his hand recording their mission log.
It clearly read: 127th.
Indeed, this was already the 127th powerful Necron dynasty they had successfully awakened in such a short period.
If one accounted for the chain reactions triggered by these revivals, the number of other smaller Necron dynasties brought back to life was beyond count.
Erebus's thoughts drifted back to how this all began.
When they first stepped out from the Warp, he had assumed this was merely another one of Lorgar's spontaneous proselytizing trips, or perhaps an attempt to confront Guilliman over royalties for a certain book written ten thousand years ago.
Yet Lorgar had guided him through the Warp currents. Tides that seemed to obey the Daemon Primarch's every whim carried them across various corners of the galaxy at incredible speeds, landing with absolute precision on one ancient tomb world after another.
Awaken.
Revive.
Move on to the next.
The entire process went as smooth as clockwork, with an efficiency that was terrifying.
In Erebus's mind, this should have been an impossible task—just how deeply hidden were Necron tomb worlds?
Even the Eldar—the ancient foes of the Necrons who loved injecting Flayer viruses into tomb worlds—could never dream of matching this level of efficiency.
Yet Lorgar acted as if he had known the precise coordinates of every single tomb world all along.
It made no sense.
Hearing his question, Lorgar slowly turned his head.
The Primarch looked at him indifferently, giving a response that was concise to the extreme.
"This is naturally divine revelation granted by the Four Gods of Chaos."
Lorgar's voice was as still as water.
"What else were you expecting?"
Erebus opened his mouth, though his notoriously sharp tongue failed to produce any smooth words for once.
He didn't doubt Lorgar's words; he was simply awestruck.
It seemed the Chaos Gods he revered were demonstrating a far more active stance than ever before when facing the upheaval sweeping across the galaxy.
Pushing the thought aside, Erebus stashed the dataslate away.
A silent smile spread across his rune-carved face.
Regardless, for Chaos—which carried little burden in realspace—this was undoubtedly a monumental victory.
If those resurrected Primarchs were to see so many powerful ancient Xenos crawling out of history's graveyard just like them, what kind of expressions would they have?
Just thinking about that outcome made Erebus look forward to it immensely!