Far beyond the reach of mortal understanding, something ancient moved between the stars.
It drifted through the darkness not as flesh nor machine, but as living energy older than civilizations themselves.
Vast currents of impossible consciousness flowed across the void while entire suns dimmed in its wake.
The being had no true form.
No fixed identity.
Only hunger.
For countless ages, it had fed upon stars, consuming their raging energies as it slumbered within the cosmic oceans of the universe.
It had witnessed galaxies form and die long before lesser races crawled upon their first worlds.
And now
It felt something unusual.
A signal.
Not physical.
Emotional.
A resonance spreading across countless systems occupied by a young race burning with hatred, resentment, and desperation so intense it echoed through the fabric of reality itself.
The being slowed.
Awareness expanded.
It observed the civilizations below.
The Necrontyr.
Fragile creatures cursed with brief lives and bodies ravaged by disease beneath merciless stars.
Yet unlike many lesser races, they possessed remarkable intelligence.
Their science had advanced far beyond their biological limitations.
They forged living metals, bent dimensions, and crossed galaxies despite the inevitable decay waiting within their own flesh.
Most important of all
They hated mortality.
That hatred radiated from them like heat from a dying sun.
The ancient entity found the sensation fascinating.
Such resentment carried potential.
The being drifted closer toward the halo of stars occupied by the Necrontyr empire while others of its kind stirred within distant regions of the galaxy.
Great cosmic predators awakened one after another, drawn by the same call of suffering and ambition.
The ancient race below sought immortality.
And immortality could indeed be given.
At a price.
A price only the star-born entities themselves fully understood.
The being’s awareness expanded across Necrontyr space.
It saw endless dynasties divided by politics and pride.
It saw wars against the ancient Old Ones.
It saw billions dying while their rulers searched desperately for salvation.
Perfect.
A civilization desperate enough to surrender anything.
Even their souls.
The entity’s consciousness shifted slowly toward physical manifestation.
Amongst its own kind, it bore many names.
But one name was spoken more than most.
Mephet’ran.
The Deceiver.
Even amongst the beings later called the C’tan, he was infamous for manipulation and treachery.
Lies flowed through his existence so naturally that truth itself had long ago become meaningless to him.
Yet deception worked best when wrapped carefully within truth.
And so the Deceiver descended toward the heart of the Necrontyr empire.
Far below, the capital world of the Triarch stood illuminated beneath countless stars.
Vast black pyramids and impossible cities stretched across continents while fleets numbering in the millions guarded the domain of the Silent King.
Within the grand chamber of the Triarch palace, silence dominated the colossal hall.
Phaerons, nobles, crypteks, and royal advisors stood motionless beneath towering pillars carved from black stone and necrodermis.
Green energy pulsed beneath transparent floors like rivers flowing through the heart of the empire itself.
At the center of the chamber sat the ruler of all Necrontyr.
The Silent King.
Szarekh.
Last of his line.
Bearer of the burden that came with ruling a dying species.
Mike stood among the assembled phaerons in silence, his expression calm as countless thoughts moved behind his eyes.
Unlike the others gathered within the chamber, he already knew what was coming.
The memories of another universe remained painfully clear.
He knew the deception.
The betrayal.
The doom awaits the Necrontyr race.
Yet despite that knowledge, he also understood another truth.
Without the C’tan, the Necrontyr would never achieve immortality.
Without biotransference, they would remain prisoners of failing flesh forever.
And Mike had not crossed time and reality itself merely to die from disease.
The chamber darkened suddenly.
A ripple spread through space itself.
Reality bent.
Several nobles recoiled instinctively as impossible pressure filled the hall.
The temperature dropped while shadows stretched unnaturally across the black walls.
Then the star god appeared.
Golden energy condensed slowly at the center of the chamber before taking shape within a towering body of living necrodermis.
Its form shifted constantly, never entirely stable, as though reality itself struggled to contain its existence.
Eyes like burning stars surveyed the hall.
Many nobles immediately lowered themselves in fear.
Others stared in awe.
Mike merely watched carefully.
Even now, the sheer presence of the entity felt overwhelming.
His instincts screamed at him that the being before him was not something mortal minds were meant to comprehend fully.
The Deceiver smiled.
The expression looked wrong upon something so ancient.
“So this,” the entity spoke smoothly, “is the mighty Necrontyr empire.”
Its voice echoed unnaturally through the chamber, layered with countless hidden tones beneath every word.
The Silent King remained seated upon his throne, though even he appeared tense beneath the star god’s gaze.
“You stand before the Triarch,” Szarekh declared evenly.
“State your purpose.”
The Deceiver inclined its head slightly.
“I come bearing opportunity.”
Silence filled the chamber once more.
The C’tan slowly walked forward, streams of golden energy drifting around its form like solar fire.
“Long before your species first looked toward the stars,” the Deceiver began, “a war consumed this galaxy.”
Images suddenly formed within the air itself.
Ancient stars are burning.
Impossible beings crossing the void.
Galaxies consumed by conflict beyond mortal comprehension.
“The C’tan fought against the Old Ones,” the entity continued.
“And we lost.”
The nobles shifted uneasily.
Mike remained silent.
“The Old Ones feared our power.
In victory, they sought our destruction, forcing my kind into hiding amongst the stars while we waited… and watched.”
The Deceiver’s burning gaze moved across the gathered phaerons.
“And now we find you.”
Its smile widened slightly.
“A people abandoned by the very beings who claim wisdom beyond all others.”
Hatred stirred visibly throughout the chamber at the mention of the Old Ones.
The humiliation still burned deeply within Necrontyr society.
The Old Ones had refused to cure them.
Refused to help them.
Refused to save them.
The Deceiver understood exactly which wounds to touch.
“You seek immortality,” the C’tan said softly.
“Unity.
Freedom from suffering.
Freedom from death itself.”
The chamber fell deathly still.
Even the Silent King leaned slightly forward.
“And you can grant this?” one phaeron asked carefully.
The Deceiver spread its arms slowly.
“My brothers and I possess knowledge beyond your imagination.
Join with us, and all that your species desires shall become reality.”
Mike watched the entity closely.
Every word was calculated perfectly.
Not entirely false.
But never entirely true either.
The Silent King’s voice echoed across the chamber.
“What price do your kind demand?”
For the first time, the Deceiver laughed softly.
“No price.”
Mike almost narrowed his eyes at that.
The greatest lie ever spoken.
The C’tan continued smoothly, “These are gifts offered freely to valued allies.
Together we may overthrow the Old Ones and forge a new age for your people.”
The chamber erupted into quiet discussion as nobles whispered among themselves.
Hope spread rapidly.
Dangerously.
Mike could already see it happening.
Desperation overcomes caution.
Exactly as history recorded.
The Silent King remained silent for a long time before finally speaking again.
“You claim immortality is within our grasp.”
“It is,” the Deceiver answered immediately.
“And unity?”
The star god smiled once more.
“Yes.”
Mike watched carefully as ambition and exhaustion warred behind Szarekh’s eyes.
The Silent King carried the burden of an empire slowly tearing itself apart.
Dynasties rebelled constantly.
Wars consumed resources endlessly.
Entire generations died before reaching their full potential.
And now a god-like being stood before him, offering salvation.
How could he refuse?
Over the following months, debate consumed the Triarch.
The Silent King consulted the two phaerons of the Triarch repeatedly while nobles, crypteks, and rulers from countless dynasties argued across entire worlds.
Some demanded immediate alliance.
Others feared the star gods’ unknown nature.
Yet most saw only opportunity.
Only one voice openly opposed the alliance from the beginning.
Orikan, astrologer of the Triarch.
Within the great observatory halls, Orikan stood before assembled nobles while cosmic simulations moved around him endlessly.
“I have seen the future,” Orikan warned darkly.
“This alliance shall indeed bring glory to our people.
Our empire will surpass all others.”
Hope stirred among many listeners.
Then Orikan continued.
“But our souls shall not survive it.”
Silence followed immediately.
Mike stood amongst the gathered phaerons, watching the astrologer carefully.
Unlike the others, Mike knew Orikan spoke the truth.
The Necrontyr would gain immortality.
And lose themselves forever.
Yet despite the warning, ambition proved stronger than caution.
Too many nobles already worshipped the star gods openly.
Too many desire immortality more than freedom.
Too many feared death above all else.
Including Mike himself.
Because, despite understanding the danger
He still intended to walk this path.
But unlike the others, he would prepare.
The Silent King might eventually remove the command protocols controlling the Necrons after biotransference, but Mike refused to place his existence entirely within another’s hands.
He would accept immortality.
Not slavery.
As the debates continued and the alliance moved closer toward approval, the influence of the C’tan spread rapidly across Necrontyr space.
Temples rose in their honor.
Priests worshipped them as living gods.
Entire populations bowed before beings born from stars themselves.
And high above the galaxy, the C’tan watched patiently.
Hungry.
Knowing the feast had already begun.