Chapter 441 – The Never-Returning Cycle of Rise and Fall! High-Spirited!
From the standpoint of their respective interests, both sides remained utterly uncompromising.
Trazyn spoke again. "We can simply go back into stasis, wait until the galaxy falls silent once more, and then awaken. When that day comes, the Necrons will be able to live quite comfortably in this untouched realm."
He had his own little calculations.
First, the Necrons have no lifespan limit. In theory, they can slumber indefinitely, awaiting the right moment.
If the galactic environment is unfavorable now, then they'll just play dead in their tombs, waiting for the day the galaxy is left masterless once again by the fires of war.
Right now, the Necrons were like shrewd old financiers who had just cashed out and left the market—pockets stuffed with currency—quietly watching market trends, waiting for the perfect time to throw money back in.
Waiting until the galaxy turned into a "bull market" before making their move seemed far more conservative and secure than investing in a rising newcomer like the Universal Megacorp.
"You really believe the galaxy will one day return to silence? No—that is impossible. The Infinity cycle of rise and fall is about to break."
"What awaits this universe is unending chaos and war. You will never again see everything wiped clean and restarted in a new age."
Jack Wells shook his head, giving Trazyn a careful analysis of the Warhammer universe's long-term trajectory.
The War in Heaven had brought the Necrons countless spoils and technological breakthroughs, but it had also left them grievously wounded. Faced with such riches, they were like a starving wolf with all its teeth pulled.
They had an Infinity appetite, yet could barely digest these refined "meals." Over the eons, they had even lost more than half of their ultimate technologies.
At best, the Necrons today could muster only thirty percent of their peak-era strength—hardly more than demigods.
And by now, the Warp had already birthed four Chaos Gods.
Whether they had existed earlier or emerged only recently, their influence was woven through every timeline. Their power drew directly from the emotions of sentient beings.
From that fact alone, it was impossible for the galaxy to ever fall silent and ownerless again. The Warp Gods' core interests are bound to this: all life in the galaxy is their spiritual sustenance!
Unless the Chaos Gods were destroyed first, the Necrons could sleep until the end of the universe and still never see a galactic "paradise" again.
Their plan to turtle away was destined to come up empty-handed.
"Trazyn, the galaxy's prospects—and the Necrons' survival—are nowhere near as optimistic as you imagine. With the Universal Megacorp in play, the galaxy will only ever be humanity's sanctuary, not yours."
Jack Wells laid it out bluntly.
The galaxy would either remain the Chaos Gods' feeding grounds or become the Universal Megacorp's back garden—but it would never belong to opportunistic Necrons waiting to swoop in.
After hearing Jack's analysis, Trazyn was silent for a moment. But soon he said, "Even if everything you've said is true, the terms you've offered are far too harsh."
"Even if I agreed to this deal, the other Necron Overlords would never accept such outrageous conditions. It would be a shameful betrayal of the entire species!"
The Necrons' power structure was a pyramid, with those at the very top called Overlords.
Each Overlord ruled their own dynasty. They were equals among themselves, jointly safeguarding the development of the Necron race. This was not a matter Trazyn could decide alone.
He would need the approval of the other Overlords and the backing of most Necrons before the deal could be finalized.
"In that case, gather all the Necron Overlords together. We can renegotiate. If you want more territory, that's not impossible."
The Universal Megacorp was never short on territory. Leaving empty holdings unused was pointless—they could just fit them out with "luxury renovations" and sell them to the Necrons, raking in solid tech points and weaponry.
Meanwhile, the ever-growing expeditionary armies could continue sweeping other universes.
Jack Wells' words were like a devil's whisper, tugging at Trazyn's thoughts.
Truth be told, Trazyn was deeply interested in the Megacorp's tech points and megastructures—especially marvels like Birchworlds and Ringworlds, god-tier creations that left him utterly enchanted.
The Universal Megacorp had far too many treasures he longed to collect. But with his current holdings and capabilities, there was no way he could house or seize everything he desired.
Joining the Megacorp might just give him the chance.
For the Megacorp, forcing the Necrons into the fold was mainly about acquiring their tech points—secondarily the C'tan shards—and lastly their weaponry.
The Necrons were absolutely a hidden boss-tier faction within the Warhammer universe.
In their vaults lay technology to restart the very flow of universal time, ship-mounted weapons powered by black holes, and stellar charts to trigger supernovae…
It was precisely because the Necrons had wielded so many law-level weapons that they had been able to defeat the Old Ones and keep their race alive to this day.
That, however, was six million years ago in their golden age.
Today, they had lost more than half of their technological knowledge. Even so, their tomb worlds still hid plenty of treasures.
And for a collector like Trazyn—a figurine hoarder among hoarders—there were naturally strange and wondrous relics among them, some tied directly to law-level weaponry.
Jack Wells' refusal to give an inch was about squeezing as many of those treasures out as possible.
"…Fine."
After weighing the pros and cons, Trazyn stopped pretending to play hardball and agreed outright.
"I'll rouse those sleeping old relics and gather everyone in a proper venue so we can discuss the cooperation in detail."
This matter concerned the Necron race's entire future and had to be agreed upon unanimously by all Overlords. Besides, the Megacorp's demands were indeed steep.
Some of the items they wanted might not even be in the possession of the Overlords themselves—they'd have to dig them out from other tombs.
After all, these antiques buried deep underground were barely understood by most Necrons anymore. Better to cash them in with the Megacorp and trade for new curiosities.
"Good. I'll be awaiting your arrival at any time."
Jack Wells finally let out a breath of relief. With this deal settled, the Megacorp's tech tree was about to light up in multiple branches, and Alt Cunningham's team would have their hands full again.
Before long, under the escort of Megacorp guard ships, Trazyn boarded his own vessel and returned to the Warhammer universe.
But as he passed through the star gate and re-entered the Prospero system, he saw that the marker he had left before departing had been obliterated by a black hole.
And not just the marker…
The entire Prospero system had been consumed by the singularity—wiped clean. Countless shattered fragments of planets and drifting wreckage of warships floated aimlessly in the void.
"Was this… the Universal Megacorp's black hole strike on Prospero?"
Trazyn was utterly stunned. How long had it been? And just like that, an entire star system was gone!
The massive corporate warriors beside him offered no explanation for his bewilderment.
When he'd left the Warhammer universe for Ideal City, the AI Men of Iron fleets from the Golden Age hadn't yet appeared, so he knew nothing of the truth.
What a terrifying opponent… Fortunately, there's still a possibility for cooperation between the Necrons and the Megacorp. Otherwise, things would get very ugly in the future.
After parting ways with the Megacorp's escort frigate, Trazyn piloted his own ship along the edge of the black hole, surveying the devastation of the battlefield while musing to himself.
Black holes were among the most mysterious and magnificent celestial bodies in the universe. Even at the Necron dynasty's height, such an immensely destructive weapon would rank among their top strategic assets.
Today, however, there were hardly any Necron black hole weapons still functional—and even those carried the risk of misfiring and harming their own side.
Technological collapse wasn't unique to humanity; even the Necron metal skeletons had suffered the same fate.
"I'd better wake those old ones as soon as possible and get their counsel," Trazyn thought, increasingly convinced that Jack Wells had spoken the truth.
After the Heaven War and the end of humanity's Golden Age, the galaxy had never truly entered a silent, magicless end-times. Whenever the galaxy fell into darkness or hardship, some dominant civilization would inevitably rise.
For the Necrons, the current situation was indeed a chance to cash out and reinvest.
…
After leaving the Warp route, the flagship of the Lunar Wolves slowly berthed within the Sol System.
However, the scene was not quite as Horus had imagined. The Sol System garrison seemed completely unaware that he was about to be appointed Warmaster, and still subjected his Vengeful Spirit to thorough inspection.
At first, Horus thought nothing of it, assuming it was merely standard procedure. But as time went on, the feeling of wrongness grew stronger.
"What is the meaning of this? These wretches don't even know to welcome us? Can't they see the banner of the Lunar Wolves?"
"This must be the damned High Lords deliberately making trouble, pulling this stunt just to spite us."
"Curse them! One day I'll have their mortal heads!"
"…!"
The Lunar Wolves warriors grumbled in dissatisfaction.
By rights, since Horus had been ordered to Terra to receive the title of Warmaster, basic courtesy demanded the nobles and bureaucrats host a grand celebration, filling the entire Sol System with festivity.
But after the Vengeful Spirit entered the system, there had been nothing but the usual inspection, clearance, and more inspection…
Not even the garrison soldiers offered a word of congratulations—only a perfunctory salute before moving on without expression.
Could it be that they had returned too quickly, and the Emperor hadn't yet officially announced the appointment? That didn't seem possible.
"My lord, I don't like this," said Ezekyle Abaddon, frowning deeply. The earlier thrill was long gone from his voice. "They act as though they don't know about your appointment… otherwise, how could they be so cold toward us? This isn't a welcome—this is a precaution."
As First Captain of the Lunar Wolves, Abaddon was a fearless warrior who held Horus' trust.
In the original Warhammer canon, after Horus was slain by the Emperor, Abaddon would become the chosen of all four Chaos Gods and lead the corrupted Black Legion in wanton destruction.
But now, at this point in time, Abaddon was still just a commander under Horus, not yet the great villain he would become.
Like Horus, he despised mortals, the Imperium's political system, and its bureaucrats—believing instead in governance centered on the Primarchs.
"Stop overthinking it. The Emperor must have his reasons for this. We just need to cooperate," Horus said.
He did not let the odd circumstances shake his faith. After all, the edict already confirmed his appointment as Warmaster—no one could argue with that.
As long as the title was his, he would have plenty of chances to deal with these blind fools later.
At this moment, Horus stood by the Vengeful Spirit's viewing port, gazing toward distant Terra with bright, excited eyes.
Terra—the birthplace of human civilization, the seat of Imperial power—would finally have a place for Horus.
"My lord, we've received a message from Malcador," Abaddon reported. "He asks that we dock the fleet at Mars Port first. He'll send the Custodian Guard to escort you alone to Terra to meet the Emperor."
Abaddon found this wrong in every possible way. Such an honorable moment, yet the Primarch was not to bring his own warriors to the ceremony?
This didn't feel like an investiture—it felt like the escort of a prisoner.
Of course, such a mood-killing thought was not something Abaddon dared say aloud. He simply looked at Horus with a complicated expression, voicing his unease in more cautious terms.
Horus, too, was beginning to sense something amiss. The initial euphoria faded as he grew more sober.
Something was off here.
The appointment of a Warmaster was a monumental event. Given the fawning, factional nature of the Imperial aristocracy, they should have been flooding the Vengeful Spirit with congratulatory messages and lavish gifts by now.
These people were right next door to Terra—how could they not have caught wind of the news?
Even a fool would now realize something was wrong. Horus couldn't help but think of Magnus and Prospero's fate.
While Magnus hardly deserved much sympathy, the Emperor's treatment of his sons had been chillingly ruthless.
And there were still those two nameless, expunged Primarchs… which only deepened Horus' suspicion toward the Emperor.
After much thought, Horus chose to suppress his doubts and said to Abaddon and the other commanders:
"What's there to worry about? I'm the Primarch of the Lunar Wolves, the Emperor's sole choice for Warmaster. Do you think he'd destroy his own fortress?"
"Even if the Emperor truly meant to act against me, I would accept it without regret!"
Of course, that last part was a lie—but Horus truly believed the Emperor would not harm him.
It simply made no sense.
He wasn't like Magnus, constantly consorting with the Warp, its gods, and its daemons. He had no intention of rebellion.
Could merely waiting on his homeworld of Cthonia for his investiture be grounds for punishment? The idea was absurd.
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