Ron strode up to the Throne.
It was a huge semicircular structure, its chair-back alcoves covered with countless precision sensors, displaying shifting images of the various Tomb Worlds and fleets.
This Throne, symbolizing the Phaerakh's power, was itself composed of Blackstone, Living Metal, and crystalline lines, its back spreading outward like the wings of a great bird, glowing with ghostly green energy.
It was connected to the energy vaults of the Phaerakh Pyramid, with conduits extending from its base to form one complex pattern after another.
After Ron sat down, the entire Throne flashed with restless energy. Lightning ripples spread along the circuits, stirring up waves of suppression-array resonance.
"We await your command, sun of Pharasis, Sole Divine Envoy of the Holy Soul Sect, rising light of the Necrontyr empire."
The Royal Warden said in a deep voice. This being's Dermal Field stood ready at all times for the descent of its master's will.
At the same time, whether it was Farah, Zahndrekh, or the other Overlords before the Throne, all bowed slightly in submission.
Ron gave a faint nod and activated the Phaerakh's Pulse Array.
That energy began to circulate, surging along the cables, bathing him in a jade-like radiance.
Tiny bolts of lightning leaped through every region. They jumped from one Canoptek Spyder to another, from one Necrontyr to another, and then covered the planet.
In the end, they spread to the entire star system.
Under Ron's will, the boundaries of space-time collapsed, and he, the great Phaerakh, linked to one protocol-bound unit after another.
Too many beings expressed their submission to him.
This was what it meant to become a ruler of the Necrontyr. Pulse energy could stretch and reshape one's own will; it was a sense of omnipotent control, a sense of conquest.
That was the