On the periter of the encampnt.
Behind the heavy bulwark of the Aegis Defence Line, Skitarius Oga-234 tightened his grip on his Arc Rifle.
As a cybernetically enhanced soldier of the Cult chanicus, for the very first ti in his existence, he was experiencing a primal, surging terror rising from the depths of his being.
From his earliest mory—since the day he was decanted from an artificial womb-vat on Mars—Oga-234 had diligently served as a faithful disciple of the Machine God, absorbing sacred binaric knowledge.
Even though he lacked the cognitive aptitude to beco a Tech-Priest, through relentless effort, he had ascended to the ranks of the Skitarii Legions, avoiding the fate of being judged as "useless scrap" and converted into a lobotomized Servitor.
But Oga-234 had never imagined he would one day face monsters like this—entities that were infinitely more "chanical" than he was.
Oga-234 scanned his surroundings.
The once-impenetrable defensive line was now shattered, riddled with gaping breaches and craters.
Lying nearby was the wrecked chassis of a Kastelan Robot; more than half of its massive body had been disintegrated into a fine, tallic dust by the xenos' unknown weaponry.
Regardless, he absolutely could not allow the glory of the Omnissiah to be tarnished.
Taking a deep breath, his cogitator-augnted mind practically boiling with combat algorithms, his body instinctively executed a chanically precise tactical maneuver, leaning slightly out from behind the Aegis wall.
His bionic ocular implants instantly acquired a target, feeding a crystal-clear visual directly into his brain.
However, this absolute clarity only induced a sensation of utter suffocation.
The entities Archmagos Dominus Cawl had classified as "Necrons"—resembling terrifying chanical skeletons—were advancing with a slow, shambling gait, akin to a march of the dead.
Their speed was agonizingly slow, yet they radiated a suffocating, inexorable pressure as they surged toward the encampnt.
There were no war cries, no fanatical charges, no displays of emotion; they rely maintained an absolute, deathly silence.
The Necron Warriors advanced in a rigid, line-infantry formation—an archaic, seemingly suicidal tactic that even the most incompetent Astra Militarum Lord General would never employ in modern warfare.
Suppressing his terror, Oga-234 pulled the trigger. A blinding arc of electricity violently discharged from the muzzle, striking his target dead center.
The struck Necron Warrior staggered slightly, but nothing more.
A swarm of tallic Canoptek Scarabs, moving like a black cloud alongside the infantry, imdiately surged over the Necron, repairing the superficial damage with terrifying speed.
Attack ineffective.
This ti, however, Oga-234 was not so fortunate.
A thick beam of erald-green energy lashed out, effortlessly punching through the plasteel of the Aegis Defence Line. It blasted a massive hole straight through the barricade and struck directly behind it.
Oga-234's body was instantaneously consud by the searing green light; another life was effortlessly extinguished.
No one would mourn or feel any sorrow for the death of this Skitarius, because this exact scenario was playing out every single second across the entire defensive line.
Death. Death. And more death.
Within the Necron ranks, an Immortal gripping a Gauss Blaster calmly shifted its gaze to acquire its next target.
Their formation remained perfectly rigid, their synchronized, heavy footfalls echoing as they marched relentlessly upon the encampnt without the slightest hesitation.
[Report: Fourth volley of sustained fire missions completed. Target damage assessnt: Suboptimal. Enemy casualty rate confird at 11.6%. Failed to achieve effective suppression.]
[Report: Dauntless-class Light Cruiser currently adjusting orbital vector to achieve optimal bombardnt position. Estimated ti to firing solution: 9 minutes. Orbital support will not arrive in ti.]
[Report: Skitarii casualty rate is approaching 16%.]
[Report: Enemy Flayed One infiltration squads continue to operate within the encampnt periter, severely disrupting localized logistical and defensive actions.]
Archmagos Cawl rapidly processed the relentless cascade of catastrophic data, forcing him to acknowledge a highly frustrating reality:
Because his forces possessed zero prior combat experience against this specific xenos threat, the chanicus cohorts were suffering catastrophic losses right out of the gate.
Whether it was massed artillery fire or the specialized volkite and arc weaponry wielded by the Skitarii, their lethality against the Necrons was severely mitigated. Despite the enemy employing such an archaic, primitive formation, Cawl found himself fundantally lacking an effective counter-asure.
[Report: The xenos aircraft designated 'Night Scythe' is currently shifting vectors.]
"What?"
Cawl was violently jarred from his calculations, his optical sensors snapping toward the holographic display projected by a servo-skull.
The Night Scythe had adopted a highly erratic flight path and was rapidly accelerating toward the imdiate vicinity of the primary encampnt.
"Do not worry. I will handle this," Cybia stated, glancing up at the sky.
Standing near the frontline of the encampnt, she raised her head toward the cloud cover.
"Exercise extre caution," Rowan warned via the telepathic link, sharing her visual feed. "Although the Night Scythe is classified as a reconnaissance and transport craft within the Necron military hierarchy, its offensive payload is absolutely not to be underestimated. Its twin-linked Tesla Destructors discharge arcing lightning capable of effortlessly reducing an entire infantry platoon to ash in a single volley."
"Understood."
Cybia stared calmly at the Night Scythe hurtling toward her position and simply raised her hand.
The Night Scythe's hyper-advanced sensors instantaneously detected the massive psychic spike. With near-zero latency, it executed an impossible 180-degree turn in mid-air, attempting to violently abort its approach—a maneuver that so blatantly defied the laws of physics it was terrifying. However, against an Alpha-grade psyker who already had a lock, it was far too late.
As she slowly closed her hand into a fist, a violent, apocalyptic surge of telekinetic power erupted.
The Night Scythe was instantly paralyzed, trapped like an insect in amber. Finally, the invisible, crushing force violently warped its chassis, crumpling it into a mangled ball of scrap tal that rained down upon the earth in countless fragnts.
Having learned from her previous encounter, Cybia had deliberately focused the brunt of her psychic assault directly upon the craft's core, instantaneously shattering its data-engrams and containnt fields.
The resulting explosion triggered a localized, rather significant energy pulse—the unmistakable result of the captive micro-wormhole violently collapsing.
Down on the ground, the logic arrays of the Immortal commanding the Necron advance remained perfectly tranquil.
Based on the updated teletry transmitted by the Deathmark, the threat priority of the enemy psychic entity was imdiately elevated by one tier, requiring re-confirmation of engagent protocols.
While rapidly uploading the data to the overarching command node, the Immortal continued to direct the Necron offensive.
According to its calculations, even factoring in the psychic anomaly, the current Necron military assets deployed possessed a high probability of terminating the target.
Did Necrons fear casualties?
That was a highly illogical joke; it shouldn't be repeated.
Ever since the apocalyptic scale of biotransference, the Necrontyr nobility had beco Necron Lords, Overlords, and Phaerons, fully retaining their original mories, personalities, and sapience.
The civilian caste, however, had been entirely reduced to mindless, soulless automaton weapons. They were nothing more than expendable tools in the hands of the nobility, to be wasted at their leisure.
If sacrificing these tools presented the opportunity to eliminate a high-value psychic asset and neutralize a latent threat to the slumbering Tomb World, it was an absolutely optimal strategic exchange.
"It is mathematically untenable. I have exhausted all viable tactical algorithms," Belisarius Cawl reluctantly admitted after running his 1,313th combat simulation.
The sheer ferocity and resilience of the enemy assault had clearly exceeded his defensive projections; the situation was rapidly approaching an unrecoverable state.
Naturally, Cawl was not entirely out of options.
If he callously designated every single Skitarii within the encampnt as an expendable asset to be fed into the at grinder to delay the Necron advance, the Archmagos could indeed buy enough ti for the Dauntless-class cruiser to achieve its firing solution and utterly annihilate the xenos with orbital bombardnt.
However, Belisarius Cawl could not execute this command.
As an Archmagos who had survived for ten millennia, it was a near-miraculous fact that he still retained a significant degree of his fundantal humanity.
Perhaps this is for the best. It saves from wasting further processing cycles on a moral paradox.
Emitting a synthesized sigh, Cawl turned to Cybia, who had returned to his side, and said, "Transmit the request for reinforcents. I am now highly intrigued to et this 'Emperor's Covenant-bearer'."
Cybia nodded, indicating her understanding.
She retrieved a teleportation hor and tossed it onto the deck.
A brilliant flash of white light erupted, and Rowan's retinue—who had been standing by in orbit—materialized directly before Belisarius Cawl.
"Greetings, Archmagos Cawl. We finally et face-to-face."
Addressing the Archmagos—who was currently experiencing a montary lapse in processing logic due to the sheer, incomprehensibly bizarre composition of Rowan's retinue—Rowan took the initiative and offered a cordial greeting.
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