The pain never truly left the Necrontyr.
Even at the height of their civilization, beneath towers that touched the stars and within empires spanning countless worlds, suffering remained woven into the blood of their species.
Their bodies were born weak beneath the radiation of their ancient sun, cursed from the beginning with disease and slow decay.
Mike understood that now.
He could feel it every moment.
The body he inhabited was tall and regal compared to humanity, yet weakness lingered beneath the surface like invisible poison.
His skin carried the pale metallic hue common among the royal dynasties, while faint lines of golden bioluminescence moved beneath the flesh around his arms and neck.
Yet despite all the advanced science surrounding the Necrontyr, their bodies still failed them.
It was ironic.
A civilization advanced enough to forge living metal and weapons capable of extinguishing stars still could not save itself from death.
Mike stood silently upon a massive balcony overlooking the capital world of the Thokt Dynasty.
Towering black pyramids stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
At the same time, streams of glowing aircraft moved through the skies in organized formations, vast energy conduits pulsed beneath the city like veins carrying power across the planet.
Millions of citizens moved below, in a carefully structured order, beneath the rule of their dynasties.
An empire beyond humanity’s imagination.
And now he ruled part of it.
Fragments of memory from the original phaeron continued merging with his own mind.
Scientific knowledge older than Earth itself flowed through him naturally now.
He understood dimensional engineering, stellar manipulation, and quantum matter conversion as easily as breathing.
At times, it disturbed him how quickly he adapted.
The human part of him should have panicked.
Instead, he analyzed.
Calculated.
Improved.
Mike slowly raised his hand, studying the faint trembling in his fingers.
The body was already deteriorating further.
Another reminder of the curse carried by the Necrontyr race.
A soft mechanical tone echoed behind him.
“My phaeron.”
Mike turned calmly.
A tall figure clad in dark metallic robes approached, then lowered himself respectfully.
His elongated features and glowing eyes marked him as one of the dynasty’s chief crypteks.
“Speak,” Mike said.
“The Silent King has issued a summons.”
Mike’s expression remained neutral, though inwardly his thoughts sharpened immediately.
So it begins.
The cryptek extended a glowing data prism.
“The Triarch requests your immediate presence upon the crownworld.”
Mike accepted the prism silently while streams of encoded information unfolded before his eyes: coordinates, authorization seals, military clearances, and direct summons markings from the Silent King himself.
There was no refusing such a command.
Not openly.
The Silent King ruled all dynasties.
Even the mighty Thokt Dynasty answered to him.
Mike looked toward the distant skies for several moments before speaking again.
“The others have already arrived?”
“Yes, my phaeron.
Representatives from the major dynasties gather even now.”
Mike nodded once.
“You may leave.”
The cryptek bowed deeply before departing.
Silence returned once more.
Mike remained motionless while countless thoughts moved through his mind.
He already knew what this meeting was about.
The memories within him made it obvious.
The war against the Old Ones had reached another dead end.
The ancient xenos possessed near-immortal lifespans and mastery of sciences the Necrontyr still struggled to understand fully.
Worse still, the Old Ones had refused every plea to cure the Necrontyr genetic curse.
Pride.
Arrogance.
Contempt.
The Necrontyr had never forgotten that humiliation.
And now the Silent King searched for another path.
Another solution.
Another way to escape death.
Mike’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The C’tan.
Even now, the star gods drifted through the galaxy unseen, feeding upon suns and existing beyond normal understanding.
Yet the Necrontyr had already begun detecting them through advanced energy studies.
Fragments of memory surfaced.
First contact.
The promises.
Immortality.
Biotransference.
Chains hidden beneath gifts.
Mike already knew how history would unfold.
The Silent King would make his bargain.
The Necrontyr would surrender their flesh.
And the C’tan would feast upon their souls.
An entire civilization damned in exchange for eternity.
Mike slowly closed his eyes.
He had no intention of becoming a slave.
Not to flesh.
Not to death.
And certainly not to another ruler.
The Silent King may eventually remove the command protocols controlling the Necrons after biotransference, but Mike had no interest in surrendering his freedom even temporarily.
Control was dangerous.
Absolute control was unforgivable.
In his previous life, he had spent years trying to free humanity from biological weakness.
He would not trade one prison for another.
Which meant he needed to prepare now.
Long before biotransference occurred.
Long before the command systems were implemented.
Long before the Silent King himself realized the full consequences of his bargain.
Mike turned and began walking through the vast halls of the royal palace.
Servants and nobles immediately lowered themselves as he passed.
Massive statues depicting ancient victories towered overhead while green energy flowed beneath transparent flooring like rivers of light.
The original Phaeron’s memories continued guiding him naturally.
The Thokt Dynasty stood among the most technologically advanced dynasties within the Necrontyr Empire.
Their crypteks specialized in energy manipulation, dimensional sciences, and advanced stellar engineering.
Their weapons alone rivaled small fleets from lesser dynasties.
Which made them valuable.
And dangerous.
The Silent King would need the Thokt Dynasty for what was to come.
Mike intended to use that necessity carefully.
Several hours later, his personal vessel departed the capital world alongside an escort fleet of crescent-shaped warships.
Black metallic hulls moved silently through space as reality itself distorted around them.
Mike sat alone within the command chamber of his flagship while stars stretched into streams of light beyond the viewing platform.
Ancient Necrontyr glyphs illuminated the chamber around him, casting shifting green reflections across polished black metal.
A cryptek stood nearby, awaiting orders.
“My phaeron,” the cryptek said carefully, “rumors are spreading among the dynasties.”
Mike remained seated.
“About?”
“The Silent King seeks salvation beyond our empire.”
Mike gave no visible reaction.
“Continue.”
“The Old Ones have once again refused diplomatic requests regarding lifespan restoration.
Many believe the Triarch will pursue more… unconventional solutions.”
Mike looked toward the endless stars silently.
Unconventional.
That was one way to describe making deals with cosmic gods that consumed souls.
“What is your opinion?” Mike asked suddenly.
The cryptek hesitated briefly.
“The Necrontyr cannot continue as we are.
Entire bloodlines die before reaching their potential.
Our greatest minds decay while lesser species thrive for millennia.
If another path exists… many would accept it regardless of the cost.”
Mike almost laughed quietly at that.
Regardless of the cost.
History would remember those words.
He folded his hands calmly.
“There is always a cost.”
The cryptek lowered his gaze.
Neither spoke again for the remainder of the journey.
Eventually, the crownworld appeared ahead of them.
A colossal planet surrounded by vast fleets and impossible structures stretching across orbit like artificial continents.
Massive pylons pierced space itself while countless warships guarded the heart of the Necrontyr empire.
At the center of it all stood the palace of the Silent King.
Ancient.
Monumental.
Built not merely to inspire loyalty, but submission.
Mike stepped from his vessel alongside his royal guard while hundreds of nobles and phaerons arrived from other dynasties nearby.
Some wore armor of gold and obsidian, while others carried staffs pulsing with contained stellar energy.
All of them are powerful.
All of them are dying.
As Mike entered the massive throne chamber, silence spread immediately across the hall.
At the far end, upon an enormous black throne, sat the ruler of the Necrontyr Empire himself.
The Silent King.
Even seated, his presence dominated the chamber completely.
Ancient intelligence burned behind cold eyes that had witnessed centuries of war, betrayal, and slow extinction.
Mike stopped before the throne.
For several long moments, neither ruler spoke.
Then the Silent King finally broke the silence.
“Phaeron of the Thokt Dynasty,” the king said evenly.
“You understand why you are here.”
Mike met his gaze calmly.
“Yes.”
The Silent King leaned slightly forward.
“The Old Ones deny us once again.
They would rather watch our species wither into dust than offer salvation.”
Quiet anger spread through the chamber.
Mike remained expressionless.
The king continued.
“But there are others within this galaxy who possess knowledge beyond even the Old Ones.”
At those words, several nobles shifted uneasily.
The Silent King’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“We stand at the edge of extinction.
If our enemies refuse to save us… Then we shall seek power elsewhere.”
Mike already knew the path ahead.
The deal would be made.
The C’tan would come.
And the fate of the Necrontyr would change forever.
But unlike the others gathered within this chamber
Mike intended to survive it with his will intact.