(A/N: This week is finals week, so im not sure how much ill post. I think ill still be able to get my normal chapters out, but that might change depending on how the week goes.
Wish me luck!)
=== Nameless Necron Lychguard ===
The Lychguard stood motionless for a moment, peering down at the shattered form of his Overlord—crumpled, defeated, and leaking rivulets of eerie blue energy across the cratered earth.
His gaze shifted.
There—only a few steps away—was the Space Marine who had delivered the killing blow. Scarred, bloodied, and unconscious.
Without hesitation, the Lychguard advanced.
He raised his gleaming warscythe, its crackling blade humming with phase energy, poised for the killing stroke.
Then he saw them.
Dozens of lesser flesh-things were swarming toward him from the surrounding ruins. Azure-armored Astartes, screaming Mandalorians. Even humans in dust-covered flak armor. They poured into the killing field like a tide of vermin.
Bolter fire roared.
Shells screamed through the air and burst against his shield, detonating in sharp explosions of shrapnel and heat. He held firm, absorbing the brunt of their volley, but calculations flashed across his vision core—this was not favorable.
The Necron Lychguard lowered his blade slightly, eyes narrowing behind a mask of emotionless metal.
Survival. That was the priority.
He turned and sprinted from the field with impossible, silent speed—his cloak of phase-dust trailing like shadow. Behind him, more Necron warriors followed his lead.
"Regroup at the flagship." the Lychguard commanded across the command-net.
Instantly, the order echoed through the minds of every surviving Necron. Units across the blasted plains disengaged, abandoning their positions and advancing toward the half-submerged wreckage of the downed Tomb Ship—its black spires now half-buried in charred soil and rubble.
The retreat, however, only intensified the wrath of the Imperium.
Orbital fire from the three remaining battle barges rained down like holy wrath—cleansing flame and void-lances scouring the earth around the Necron lines. Entire columns of retreating warriors were atomized mid-step.
Still they marched.
Still they obeyed.
A transmission flickered to life within the Lychguard's cortex—static-laced, but clear enough.
"Secondary scouting detachment reports contact. Underground. Catacomb sector delta-four. One... entity of interest. Unknown origin."
The Lychguard slowed, optics narrowing.
He sent a command across the network:
"Continue retreat. I will investigate."
With a final glance back toward the battlefield—toward the broken Overlord and the fire-choked sky—the Lychguard vanished into the ash-blown distance, heading for the catacombs below.
===
The cold silence of the catacombs was broken only by the echo of metallic feet—measured, precise, and unhurried.
As he descended deeper, the air became thick with the residual static of conflict. The scent of scorched circuitry and seared metal clung to the chamber like incense in a forgotten crypt.
Then he saw them.
A semicircle of Necron warriors stood in silent vigil, their weapons low but ready. At the center of the formation was a figure unlike any the Lychguard had seen before.
The creature lay broken, its breathing mechanical and erratic. Its skeletal structure was heavily augmented, pieced together with foreign tech and surgical brutality. Plates of white armor, scratched and scorched, clung to a frame that looked almost Necron... but not quite. Its limbs—four in total—were splayed out beneath it, one dragging a scorched lightsaber hilt still clutched in a trembling grip.
The Lychguard stopped. Studied him.
A cyborg. Alive, yet not. Something forged in pain, much like themselves. But this one still clung to the biological.
"Curious," the Lychguard murmured, his voice like metal grinding on stone, ancient and emotionless.
He stepped closer. The Necrons parted wordlessly, letting their elite pass. The beings eyes—still bright with hate and agony—lifted to meet his. But there was no defiance. No fight left.
"Preserve it," the Lychguard ordered.
The Necron warriors responded instantly. Two stepped forward with stasis clamps, locking the cyborg's limbs and encasing his mangled form in a containment field of humming green light. A cry of pain escaped the cyborg—mechanical, distorted—but it was ignored.
The Lychguard turned without another word, his cloak trailing behind like a shadow.
"Biotransference," he intoned as he began his ascent from the catacombs. "This one is... suitable."
The shadows closed in behind him, and soon only silence remained—save for the soft hum of containment and the ragged, robotic breath of a warlord who would soon be something else entirely.
===Sebastian===
The bunker door groaned open with the sound of strained metal and ruptured air seals, revealing a corridor slick with shadows and death. Sebastian stepped through first, his black armor ruined and broken. His crusader tabard trailing behind him like a battle-worn banner.
His helm's systems whirred softly, filtering the corrupted air. The scent of ozone, scorched flesh, and Warp-taint filled his lungs regardless.
The Obsidian Crusaders followed in a silent wedge, Mandalorians armed with blasters and vibroblades, their armor jet-black and marked with sigils of both their creed and the Emperor's fury. The echoes of battle were still fresh in the walls—burns from lightsabers scorched deep lines into the bulkheads, and the remains of charred creatures twitched in final spasms.
Sebastian paused. Something was wrong.
His helm tilted toward the central chamber. The force of the Warp had been concentrated there—he could feel it like a migraine under his skin.
"Clear the hallways. Watch for any taint," he ordered flatly.
The Mandalorians broke formation, fanning out in disciplined silence. Sebastian moved alone toward the vast chamber ahead.
He entered the aftermath of the storm.
The great window at the far end had been obliterated, letting the wind whip through the bunker, scattering ash and sand across the chamber floor.
In the center, a deep scorch mark radiated outward, blackening the stone and metal in a perfect circle. Warp lightning. He knew its scent. Its heat.
And in the middle of that blast zone, Yoda's small form lay slumped against the ground, utterly spent. Dooku knelt next to him, trying to help the old Jedi Grandmaster while looking over to his apprentice.
Qui-Gon was making his way over to the two apprentices, who looked to be in rough shape.
Sebastian's boots echoed as he walked across the chamber. He lowered his weapon slightly as he came to a stop.
"Where is he?" Sebastian asked, voice cold and metallic through the vox-grill.
Dooku looked up through narrowed eyes, slowly getting to his feet in a defensive position. "Gone. A coward's exit. But not before dealing grievous damage."
Sebastian's jaw tightened beneath his helmet. "What happened?" he growled, his voice a low rumble of fury echoing through the ruined chamber.
Yoda stirred against the cold floor, his robes scorched, his breath shallow. With effort, the ancient Jedi Master raised his head, his eyes dim with fatigue. "Powerful, he was... Unable to defeat him, we were," he said, voice weak but steady.
A sudden, violent tension gripped the chamber. Sebastian stepped forward, the servo-motors in his ruined armor whining under the force of his movement. His gauntlet clenched around the hilt of his black-forged blade, and in one swift motion, he leveled it at Yoda's small, slumped form.
"You let him escape!" he roared, his voice laced with righteous fury. "If your damn Jedi hadn't interfered—if you had stayed out of my way—I could have ended this!"
The blade crackled with energy, humming in resonance with Sebastian's wrath. The Obsidian Crusaders flanking the chamber raised their weapons slightly, unsure if the fury of their commander would become action.
Yoda, battered but not broken, slowly pushed himself upright, supported by the Force more than muscle. "Anger clouds you, Black Templar… But wrong, you are not. Escaped, the Sorcerer has. Our failure, it is."
The Black Templar's sword lowered by a fraction, though the fury in his posture did not abate. "Where did he go?"
"We don't know," Dooku said grimly, stepping beside Yoda.
There was a long pause. Then Sebastian turned sharply toward Jarek.
"Trace for any resonance. I want a trajectory. Even if it's only fragments."
The Mandalorian nodded and walked towards the hanger where the ship had been.
Sebastian lingered a moment longer, the low hum of his energized blade crackling like thunder held in restraint. His fury had not waned—it seethed just beneath the surface, a storm begging to be unleashed.
"There is a blood price for this," he said, his voice like iron dragged over stone. His helm turned slowly, eyes like burning embers locked on the small, slumped figure of Yoda. "The Jedi who stopped me from pursuing the Traitor... his life is forfeit. As is yours, for throwing me from the Colosseum."
Without hesitation, he raised his sword high—its edge glowing with the fury of ten thousand crusades.
But just before the blade struck, a harsh crackle burst through his vox-channel.
"Sebastian!" came Raxor's voice, strained and gravelly, but unmistakable. "Maximus is down. He's alive—but only just. He's bleeding out, brother. We may lose him."
The blade halted at its zenith. For a long moment, Sebastian remained frozen, the battlefield screaming through the shattered window.
His gauntlet clenched tighter around his sword, knuckles grinding against ceramite. Slowly, painfully, he lowered the weapon, the tip dragging sparks across the broken stone floor.
Yoda met his gaze without fear. Tired, bloodied, but still resolute.
Sebastian turned away, voice cold and hard. "Your life was spared by a brother's need. Cherish it, Jedi. But the others is still mine. When i see him next, i will kill him."
Without another word, Sebastian stalked out of the chamber, his black blade trailing behind him like a shadow, his Obsidian Crusaders following in grim silence.
The wrath of the Templar had been postponed.
But not forgotten.
=== Raxor ===
Smoke drifted across the ruins of the battlefield, thick and acrid with the scent of burning promethium, charred metal, and blood—both human and xenos. The Battle Barges still thundered their wrath against the Necrons from afar, distant sounds of explosions ringing through the air.
Raxor knelt beside Maximus.
The mighty Ultramarine was barely recognizable beneath shattered ceramite and torn flesh. His helmet had been broken, revealing a face ashen with blood loss and lined with pain, one massive cut separating his left cheek.
One of his eyes was swollen shut, the other fluttering open only in brief, hazy recognition. His right arm was broken by whatever monstrous force had gripped him at the last moment, and his left shoulder was shattered. His chestplate was cracked in three places, revealing exposed muscle beneath. His left femur was snapped, and his breath came shallow and ragged, gurgling from a punctured lung.
It was a wonder how he lifted the hammer at all.
Raxor's massive green-plated form hunched low, his fingers moving with surprising gentleness for someone who could rip a tank apart with his bare hands. He worked quickly, slicing away shattered armor with his combat blade and sealing ruptured arteries with a med-seal torch he had been given. The wounds were many—and each a testament to how brutally Maximus had fought to stay alive.
"Stay with me, brother," Raxor muttered, voice low and gravel-filled. "You don't get to die today. Not when we still have a galaxy to conquer."
Maximus gave no reply—just a faint twitch of the fingers. But it was enough.
Around them, Apothecaries moved swiftly between the bodies, some kneeling by fallen Ultramarines, others tending to the dying Captain Agemman.
An explosion cracked in the distance, sending tremors through the ground raining dust and dirt down around them.
Raxor didn't flinch. His focus was solely on his brother.
"I warned you," he said quietly, mostly to himself. "You always push it too far."
He reached for a stim injector, jamming it into Maximus's side. The Ultramarine jerked violently, his good eye flying open with a brief flash of awareness.
"Raxor...?" Maximus rasped.
"I'm here."
"Is he... dead...?"
Raxor paused, the firelight glinting off his green visor. "Yes. You got him."
Maximus coughed hard, blood flecking his lips. "Good."
Raxor gripped his hand, armored palm enveloping the broken fingers of his comrade. "Rest now. I've got you. Sebastian is on his way."
"And Captain Agemman?" The Ultramarine asked.
"Not looking good. I dont think he will make it."
Behind them, more Astartes landed via Thunderhawk and drop pods. The Mandalorian legions also started filling the sky, killing any Necron of droid they saw.
The battlefield was still chaos—but in this moment, amidst ruin and blood, Raxor knelt by his brother like a sentinel of flame, unwilling to leave his side.
===
If you enjoyed this chapter, maybe consider leaving me with a couple of your power stones? I promise I'll take good care of them:)