"It is a thoroughly deranged galaxy, is it not?"
Phaeron Smaichel set down the now completely emptied bottle of vintage Imperial amaseat, wearing the ultimate expression of a sovereign who had entirely looked past the veil of worldly constraints.
To hell with the Imperium of Man, and to hell with the Necron Empire—at this point, he simply wanted to see just how close to absolute, screaming madness this universe could tilt.
Yang Tao cast a gaze filled with deep, profound pity upon the multi-careerist who was currently moonlight-governing as a Planetary Governor while simultaneously retaining his rank as a Xenos Phaeron.
The victims of the Flayer Virus were universally loathed and feared by the rest of the Necron race due to the virulent nature of their curse. Consequently, any Necron showing even the slightest telemetry of infection was immediately exiled, put to the sword, or systematically dismantled.
Thus, Phaeron Smaichel and his entire dynasty had been utterly excommunicated by their metallic brethren. Meanwhile, the Imperium of Man harbored a massive lack of trust toward this legion of "fellow human citizens" clad in synthetic skin plates. Yet, fearing that these terrifying xenos entities might trigger a catastrophic war sector-wide if provoked, the Administratum simply purged the entire star system from the Imperial sector maps, leaving them to live out their distorted existences in isolation.
As for the Imperial Tithe? They weren't even technically counted within the official borders of the Emperor's realm anymore—what tithe was there to collect?
Observing Yang Tao's pitiful stare, Phaeron Smaichel didn't display a single flicker of synthetic wrath. He had long since grown accustomed to such looks.
Yang Tao looked at the metallic monarch and asked, "Now that your biological soul has been restored, what are your strategic intents moving forward?"
"I have recently been running analytical studies on the Orks," Smaichel replied casually. "I hypothesize that I can utilize our technomancy to forge a legion of cybernetic Greenskins... Metallic Orks, if you will."
Yang Tao: "..."
In that exact microsecond, he confirmed that Phaeron Smaichel was indeed stark raving mad. But worse, the Phaeron refused to suffer alone; he wanted to drag the entire material universe into the warp of insanity with him.
"By the way, you mentioned Nemesor Zandrekh earlier. What is his current tactical status?"
"Mad. Considerably more unhinged than you."
Yang Tao took a refreshing gulp of iced Coca-Cola and explained, "Zandrekh firmly cognizes that he is still living in the golden age of the Necrontyr Empire during the Wars of Secession. He is utterly convinced that he remains a flesh-and-Admiral of Blood of his ancient race."
"When he encounters humans, his engrams register them as vertically challenged Necrontyr. When he sees Orks, he logs them as green-skinned Necrontyr. When he looks at the Aeldari, he thinks they are severely malnourished Necrontyr. Chaos forces are categorized as Necrontyr with atrocious hygiene protocols; the T'au Empire are merely Necrontyr clad in avant-garde battle armor; and the Tyranids? He genuinely logs them as exotic war beasts belonging to a rival Necron Dynasty..."
Upon listening to the data log concerning Nemesor Zandrekh, the Crowned General, a genuine, emotionally driven smile actually manifested upon Phaeron Smaichel's newly enlivened face.
"Now that is the true face of the cosmos... There are no true distinctions between Necrontyr, humans, Orks, or Aeldari... We are all merely pathetic, transient manifestations bound to the laws of the material universe."
"Only the soul possesses true reality!"
"However... the Crowned General is erroneous on one vital point. Those warp-spawned denizens within the Immaterium... they are the singular, true adversaries of the material world!"
It was a verified fact. Smaichel was absolutely batshit crazy.
Yang Tao sighed heavily, glancing at the Phaeron as a sudden, harrowing thought crossed his mind: Wait, the Flayer Virus is a transmissible curse among Necrons... it wouldn't happen to infect humans, would it?
Recalling the Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus he had crossed paths with on his way here, Yang Tao pondered that with their obsession with replacing flesh with metal, it wasn't outside the realm of terrifying possibility... The curse of a C'tan was truly an apocalyptic piece of work.
Just as Yang Tao was calculating whether he should execute a swift tactical withdrawal from this planet, Phaeron Smaichel suddenly spoke, his tone turning grave: "You must exercise extreme caution regarding the wider Necron race. Should the grand Dynasties catch wind that you possess the capability to restore souls, they will be left with only two strategic options: first, to elevate you onto a pedestal of absolute worship; or second, to utilize every means at their disposal to bring you under absolute lock and key..."
"If my computational matrices serve me correctly, the artifact that granted me my soul is that peculiar geometric cube you wielded moments ago?"
"Yeah."
Yang Tao had naturally factored in the potential response of the Necron race before making his move. However, the god-tier sandbox mechanics provided by Minecraft afforded him immense leverage. Not even the Four Gods of Chaos had managed to instantly obliterate him the second he transmigrated, which proved his foundational reality rules were exceptionally resilient.
"It's fine. I weighed the variables before pulling it out. I just never anticipated stumbling upon a faction as eccentric as yours..."
Who could have guessed he'd run into a faction of Imperial-larping Necrons? If this had been a standard, canonical Dynasty, he would currently either be negotiating harsh terms under a barrage of Gauss fire or actively waging an apocalyptic war against them.
"I will arrange for a proxy to remain here permanently, tasked with administering soul-restoration to those within your ranks who require it."
Phaeron Smaichel nodded slowly in assent.
Meanwhile, Yang Tao's internal monologue scrambled to decide which specific entity would be the most efficient asset to station here.
Materializing a Waystone directly within the grand hall of the Phaeron's palace, a brilliant flash of blinding white light erupted, and the monolithic silhouette of a Mutated Iron Golem materialized before them.
"The architecture here is slightly constrictive. I'll take him outside to finalize the procedure..."
Smaichel stared at the Iron Golem, his face—now capable of biological expression thanks to the Allspark—morphing into a look of profound fascination. "Is this a cybernetic construct? Negative... it possesses an actual biological signature. A highly aberrant entity... an existence far more unique than even my current self..."
"An Iron Golem. A distinct form of living organism."
Offering a concise brief, Yang Tao guided the iron titan out through the grand arched exit.
The moment they breached the perimeter, a phalanx of Lychguard converged upon them, their hyperphases ready. However, Phaeron Smaichel stepped out behind Yang Tao and gave a brief wave of his hand, prompting the elite mechanical bodyguards to instantly fall back into standby mode.
Yang Tao placed his palm firmly against the chassis of the Mutated Iron Golem. In an instant, the vast reservoir of Faith Energy within his system uncoupled like a ruptured dam, pouring relentlessly into the colossal frame of the titan.
5 meters... 30 meters... 50 meters... 80 meters...
Just as Yang Tao's hoarded stockpile of Faith Energy was on the verge of being utterly depleted, the towering frame of the Mutated Iron Golem suddenly compressed violently, shrinking back down to the size of a standard Iron Golem. Above its crown, a new prefix crystallized within its designation data: Transformation.
[Paladin · Mutated Iron Golem]
Hit Points (HP): 10,000 / 10,000
Abilities & Protocol Matrices: Flight, Judgment Thunder II, Summon Retinue, Necrotic Sorcery, Arrow Volley, Fireball, Launch Harming Potions.
Ten thousand HP... This is blatant false advertising.
Staring at the Paladin-tier Mutated Iron Golem before him, Yang Tao calculated that this asset should be fully equipped to handle any localized Necron threats. At the very least, it possessed the toolkit to execute a flawless tactical retreat if overrun.
The only downside is the astronomical consumption rate of Faith Energy. A single Paladin drains this much divine currency; if I ever hope to elevate one to a Titan-class...
He shook his head helplessly. The evolutionary chasm between a Paladin and a Titan-class entity was significantly wider than the gap between a standard Iron Golem and a Paladin. Trying to force-evolve a wild Titan-class entity would practically require the same grueling grind as manifesting the Final star.
Reaching into his inventory, he handed the Allspark over to the newly christened Paladin and issued a direct directive: "If any entity attempts to misappropriate or seize this Allspark, terminate them with absolute prejudice. If the opposition proves mathematically insurmountable, retreat immediately. Confirm comprehension."
"Comprehension confirmed."
The sudden vocal response from the iron titan caught Yang Tao completely off-guard. Whether it was the standard Iron Golems, the Mutated variants, or the subsequent Priest, Zealot, and Bishop tiers, they had all displayed high cognitive intelligence but had never exhibited vocal capabilities.
He hadn't anticipated that hitting the Paladin-tier would unlock full-spectrum verbal communication. But on second thought, this entity was practically bordering on demi-godhood within his ruleset; being unable to speak would have been the real anomaly.
"Phaeron Smaichel, should the tactical situation require it, you may interface directly with him."
Phaeron Smaichel stood utterly petrified where he stood. The newly born "Spark-soul" inside his living metal chest plate was flashing warning prompts, on the absolute verge of a complete system crash.
"You... You have actively synthesized a new deity..."
"Not quite," Yang Tao corrected casually. "This is merely a Paladin. A true Titan-class entity capable of matching a god will have to wait a while longer."
Smaichel: "..."
As expected, this entire reality is thoroughly, irrevocably mad.
The Phaeron raised his ocular sensors, locking his gaze onto Yang Tao. "I officially rescind my previous tactical assessment. The Necron race possesses only a single logical course of action moving forward: they must designate you as the new Silent King! If you require it, I can establish communication matrices with the other Dynasties... though those arrogant traditionalists will likely filter my signal."
"Let's hold off on that. We'll wait until the God-Emperor of Mankind rises from the Golden Throne before we interface with those grand Dynasties."
When that milestone arrived, the Imperium of Man and the Necron Empire could forge an absolute, galaxy-shattering alliance, leaving the Orks and the Tyranids to lock horns in an endless war of attrition.
Meanwhile, he could safely slip into the Immaterium and quietly siphon off all that sweet, unclaimed Warp energy that nobody was using.
'I'z targetin' dat energy, 'cos I'z thinkin' nobody else is usin' it anyway!