"What a familiar scene. Whether among the Necrontyr or humanity, there is never any shortage of intrigue, deception, and banquets that end in blood…"
That was Eden's conclusion.
He had always prepared for the worst. Better to be ready for a disaster that never came than to find himself trapped in an irreparable situation.
Eden knew that Nemesor Zahndrekh merely appeared senile and confused. In truth, he was far more lucid than the overwhelming majority of high-ranking Necrons.
Perhaps Zahndrekh had already realized what the Phaeron and Divine Envoy of Ramses intended to do—and recognized the dangers involved.
"You are correct, Lord Charles. We should not ruin such a splendid banquet. That would be unbecoming of a noble."
After a long silence, Zahndrekh finally raised his goblet and drained it in one gulp.
In the end, he chose not to make his move. Instead, he remained an honored guest.
Zahndrekh could sense the hidden danger surrounding him, a threat capable of ending his life. No matter how he considered the situation, this was not the right time to begin a conflict.
More importantly, something deep within him resisted the idea of destroying such a precious moment—especially while he sat amid such a magnificent banquet.
He felt better than he had in millions of years, almost as though he had come alive again. He did not even have his poison-taster inspect the drink before consuming the fine wine his host had prepared.
"Lord Zahndrekh, you are an excellent guest, possessed of all the virtues of true nobility. The Ramses Dynasty will forever welcome you as a friend.
"Today, we shall discuss no burdensome affairs or solemn matters. Our only duty is to raise our goblets and drink every last drop of this fine wine."
Eden likewise drained his goblet before setting it gently upon the table. The tension within the hall finally dissipated.
At the same time, he released a subtle bioelectromagnetic signal.
In the darkness beyond the hall, dozens of life-signs gradually vanished amid faint rustling sounds, as though slipping into another dimension.
They belonged to elite Tyranid Lictor assassins—specially enhanced Lictors designed as purely physical killers.
Their streamlined bodies stood seven or eight meters tall. Though they possessed no psychic abilities, their claws could tear through most forms of living metal.
After collecting vast quantities of combat data, the Tyranid Hive Mind had bred these specialized warriors specifically to fight Necrons.
In fact, the name Lictor itself came from High Gothic, referring to the axe-bearing officials and executioners of ancient Rome.
The creatures were ideally suited to ambush and assassination, eliminating their targets with terrifying speed.
Afterward, accompanied by the music of the ceremonial rites, Eden and Zahndrekh freely indulged in the fine wines and delicacies of the ancient Necrontyr empire.
Finding these ingredients and recreating the dishes had been no easy task.
Eden had dispatched personnel from his logistics division, along with vessels from the Tyranid Hive Fleet, to scour the galaxy for them. Once found, everything had been relayed to him by the Sacred Soul Cult's scout fleet.
All of it had been necessary to maintain his dignity and prestige as the Phaeron and Divine Envoy of the Ramses Dynasty.
That was the advantage of possessing cloned bodies and controlling several independent military forces. Each branch could support the others in accomplishing his objectives.
Without this cloned living-metal body, the Savior would have found it extremely difficult to operate freely within the Pariah Nexus—much less infiltrate the heart of Necron society.
Damn. Perhaps I should imitate the Phaeron and Phaerakh of Ramses and use living metal to simulate a complete digestive system.
Every drop of wine Zahndrekh drank and every morsel of food he ate simply fell through his exposed rib cage, leaving him looking awkward and decidedly undignified.
He had never considered the problem before.
Or rather, beings who had lost their souls simply did not possess such concepts within their data-logic.
It was an inherent flaw in life composed of living metal.
Yet Eden and Fahra were both covered in simulated flesh formed from living metal. They resembled true flesh-and-blood Necrontyr as they enjoyed the banquet.
Anyone unaware of the truth might have believed they could genuinely taste the food.
By comparison, Zahndrekh looked unbearably crude, nothing like a true noble. The contrast left him feeling oddly inferior.
The Nemesor continued drinking in a gloomy mood, only to gradually develop the faintest trace of sensation.
He still could not taste the wine, but the experience of drinking it was now being reproduced within his data-logic.
What a marvelous sensation.
"Ah… I can taste the plantations of my home system…"
Gradually, the Nemesor surrendered completely to the atmosphere of the banquet. He became so deeply immersed that he even forgot his original purpose for coming here.
He almost appeared drunk.
"My lord, you may wish to remain vigilant. This is not your own flagship…" Obyron warned, growing anxious as he watched Zahndrekh once again lose himself during a banquet.
His master had behaved this way before, but always within the banquet hall of his own vessel, in a secure location.
This time, however, Zahndrekh seemed even more confused than usual. He had apparently forgotten that he was deep within dangerous territory.
Obyron repeatedly transmitted warnings to the Nemesor's cortical field through pulse communications, but every message was ignored.
The Vargard even received a warning in return, ordering him not to disturb his master's drinking.
Hmm. Looks like Zahndrekh has finally had enough to drink.
Eden nodded in satisfaction.
Ensuring that a guest drank his fill was simply part of being a good host.
Of course, wine alone could never have put Zahndrekh into this condition. The Nemesor did not possess a digestive system, so ordinary intoxication should have been impossible.
The real cause was the emotion virus mixed into the wine.
It allowed its host to experience a broader range of emotions and sensations.
Moreover, the emotion virus alone could not enable Eden to control the will of a Necron. Everything still depended upon the choices made by the infected individual.
Otherwise, Eden would never have needed to work so hard constructing an entire religion and the narratives supporting it.
Zahndrekh loved attending banquets and reminiscing about the past. He had willingly chosen to immerse himself in dreams of bygone days, believing that he was once again a complete Necrontyr.
That belief had sent him into a state of cybernetic intoxication.
The minds of modern Necrons were composed of data-logic. If they accepted the data-logic's representation of drunkenness as real, their bodies would respond accordingly.
Truthfully, even Eden had started feeling cyber-drunk after putting away a few goblets in his living-metal body.
The chain reaction between the emotion virus and his data-logic was astonishingly powerful.
However, this was not physiological intoxication. It was purely a mental state.
The moment they recognized the problem and chose to sober up, they could automatically terminate the condition and restore normal consciousness.
Far too many high-ranking Necrons within the Infinite Empire preferred to remain forever immersed in fantasy. They would rather believe themselves madmen, beasts, or even insects than awaken and face the cold reality of their existence.
Zahndrekh was not one of them.
The Nemesor possessed more than enough wisdom and fully understood his own condition. He could restore his lucidity whenever he wished.
Eden had no intention of driving Zahndrekh permanently insane.
He wanted to recruit the Nemesor as the Sacred Soul Cult's foremost general and missionary.
His objective today had been simple: get Zahndrekh thoroughly drunk, expose him to the emotion virus, allow him to experience the wonder of emotions and sensation, and strengthen their personal relationship while he was at it.
"Obyron, my faithful guardian… I believe I can see my ancestors. Perhaps I need to sober… sober up…"
Zahndrekh's speech had become slurred. He seemed to have finally recognized his condition.
It appears the time has come to introduce the Nemesor to the drinking customs of the Ramses Dynasty!
Eden watched him and smiled coldly.
He had to make certain the Nemesor received a proper dose of both strong liquor and the emotion virus. Otherwise, winning over a Phaeron would be extremely difficult.
Eden picked up a large cask of wine and strode toward Zahndrekh, speaking in a tone that allowed no argument.
"Lord Zahndrekh, I regret to inform you of something.
"You accidentally knocked over your goblet. According to the Ramses Dynasty's traditional banquet protocols, you must drink three cups as a penalty!"
"My apologies. I… must observe the protocol."
The ghostly green flames in Zahndrekh's eye sockets were already wavering. Nevertheless, he slammed back another three cups in rapid succession.
Under the influence of his data-logic, even his entire body began to feel weak.
"No need for words. Everything that must be said is already contained within this goblet!"
"Are we not scions of noble dynastic blood? If you are a true noble, drain this cup!"
"Protocol demands that we make the rounds!"
Obyron watched his master being plied with cup after cup until he could barely remain upright.
The Vargard was completely dumbfounded.
He had no idea what to do and no way to stop any of it.
"Big Brother!"
"W-Waaaah! My dearest big brother!"
Zahndrekh had become completely befuddled.
He had even forgotten the most basic honorifics and aristocratic forms of address. He clutched Eden's hand and repeatedly called him his big brother, behaving as though they were blood brothers finally reunited after a lifetime apart.
Had he still possessed a body of flesh and blood, his eyes would probably have been overflowing with tears.
"My little brother!"
Eden responded with equal sincerity and immediately tried to persuade his new brother to swear an oath of brotherhood with him.
"You cannot, my lord! You cannot do this, Your Majesty Ramses!"
Obyron floundered helplessly. Even his deep, resonant voice cracked in panic.
Within the Infinite Empire, establishing relationships outside one's bloodline was an extraordinarily serious affair, and the accompanying protocols possessed extremely powerful binding force.
If his master, the Nemesor, truly entered into a brotherhood protocol with the Phaeron of Ramses, the consequences would be immense.
It might even alter the fate of their entire dynasty.
Fortunately, Eden's proposal had merely been an emotional impulse, while Zahndrekh was far too intoxicated to enter into any formal agreement.
In the end, no contract was signed.
Nevertheless, the two had unquestionably bonded. Host and guest alike were thoroughly delighted.
At last, after every drop of wine had been consumed and Eden's supply of emotion virus had been fully dispersed, the banquet came to an end amid an atmosphere of warm friendship.
Obyron supported his thoroughly intoxicated master and escorted him from the hall.
However, they did not leave the Sacred Soul Cult's core world and return to their Tomb Fleet.
At Eden's enthusiastic invitation, Zahndrekh remained overnight in one of the palace's guest chambers.
That would give the Nemesor a better opportunity to experience the landscapes and culture of the Ramses Dynasty.
I've done everything I can. The emotion virus has taken effect. What happens next will depend upon Zahndrekh's own choice.
Eden watched Zahndrekh depart and sighed with emotion.
Every Phaeron was one of the galaxy's most powerful beings, comparable to a Space Marine Chapter Master or even a Primarch. Eden could not directly control their will.
Frankly, even the Chaos Gods would probably struggle to accomplish such a feat. Necrons were inherently anti-empyric entities, and there were currently no known records of a high-ranking Necron being corrupted by Chaos.
Had Eden not deciphered the Flayer Virus left behind by the C'tan and adapted it into a carrier for his emotion virus, he would not have possessed even the most basic means of influencing them.
"Damn… This wine really does hit hard…"
Eden's head was also spinning now, leaving him in a cyber-drunken state.
At last, he understood how high-ranking Necrons went insane or suffered dislocations in their perception.
For beings who had lost their souls and operated entirely through data-logic, their mental state truly could affect every aspect of their existence.
It was like feeding artificial intelligence a new piece of code and causing the entire program to malfunction. Unless defensive barriers were established and the corrupted data removed in time, serious problems would follow.
Such as sincerely believing oneself to be a female gorilla living in a savage jungle.
Even mentally stable Phaerons, Overlords, and Lords risked having their cortical fields influenced whenever they deployed Destroyer units obsessed with eradicating all life.
That exposure could gradually instill the same destructive tendencies within them.
For most high-ranking Necrons, establishing layer upon layer of data barriers was therefore critically important.
The majority of dangerous information underwent repeated inspection by wardens and Tomb Technicians before it was finally transmitted into their cortical fields.
However, those safeguards could not stop the Flayer Virus or the emotion virus.
Both originated from the fundamental essence of a C'tan. They could easily bypass Necron data defenses and cause infection without leaving the slightest trace.
The emotion virus was especially difficult to detect.
It was completely harmless, purely infectious, and designed to produce positive effects, making its structure even more elusive than that of the Flayer Virus.
Necrons yearned for flesh and souls. On a subconscious level, they willingly accepted viral modules capable of restoring their emotions.
This was the only method Eden had currently discovered for influencing them.
After confirming that the emotion virus had taken effect, he allowed Fahra to support him as he staggered from the banquet hall.
In truth, Eden could terminate the condition at any moment.
However, for a living-metal organism devoid of sensation, the experience was exceedingly rare.
He wanted to enjoy it a little longer.
No matter how resilient he was, inhabiting a living-metal body for extended periods still had some effect on him.
Fortunately, Eden's metaphysical stature was sufficiently high and his will sufficiently strong.
The influence was extremely minor, and he could recover almost instantly.
Moreover, he possessed extensive experience controlling cloned bodies. He had previously spent long periods acting as a fragment of the Tyranid Hive Mind, directing entire swarms.
Naturally, Eden did not lower his guard merely because Zahndrekh had been infected by the emotion virus.
Even after regaining his emotions, the Nemesor might still choose to attack the Sacred Soul Cult.
Every necessary defense still had to be arranged with meticulous care.
The key question was whether Zahndrekh would accept the existence of his restored emotions—whether he would choose to trust the Sacred Soul Cult and pursue an even deeper experience of life.
Eden believed the Nemesor would find such temptation extremely difficult to resist.
…
The following day, inside a palace bedchamber.
Zahndrekh awoke from his haze and gazed around the classically luxurious Necrontyr noble's chamber.
For a moment, he was disoriented once again.
Then he remembered something and sighed wistfully.
"Yesterday truly was an unforgettable feast. I never imagined these old bones of mine would taste wine again."
The Nemesor continued savoring the memory of the previous day's banquet.
For a time, he could not determine whether everything he had experienced had been real or merely a dream.
Vargard Obyron remained beside him, standing like an impenetrable wall.
With his usual meticulous discipline, the Vargard reminded him:
"My lord, the Tomb Fleet has completed its sweep. Perhaps we should depart and proceed to the Hypnos System to reinforce the Stormlord…"
Zahndrekh often became confused after attending banquets, so it frequently fell to Obyron, his Vargard and trusted aide, to remind him of important matters.
Obyron also knew that Zahndrekh was unlikely to attack this planet now.
Perhaps leaving was their wisest choice.
Before they could be influenced any further.
(End of Chapter)
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