A Hand Tossed Aside, Stunned on the Spot

Not at the same time, but in the same place, the Deathmark sniper codenamed 47 kicked open the resurrection pod once again and roared at the Necron Overlord, who had remained unchanged since he last left:

"Baka yaro! These honorless Warp maggots, if you have the guts, come face me in a real fight! I will slaughter every last one of you!"

Seeing his subordinate so agitated, Lainster, the Necron Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, stared straight ahead. Much like his friend Trazyn, Lainster—though a Necron—was far more lenient than his kin and did not mind the minor offense from his subordinate.

In fact, for Lainster, who had long since lost his flesh and was entirely like a mechanical Ghost, seeing his subordinate lose his composure was a form of alternative entertainment.

"My Deathmark captain, I have never seen you lose your cool like this, not even when facing the Old Ones on the battlefield. What exactly has you so worked up?"

47 knelt on one knee, using the glowing green crystal on his head to project his final moments, and explained:

"My Lord, the race outside calling themselves Imperials is bizarre. Though their strength is not great, they are somehow able to communicate with Warp entities.

Furthermore, I suspect the Imperials possess more than one Warp entity; there is one covered in gold, sitting on a toilet with a lewd, wicked grin, and another bathed in red light, resembling a Dog-man."

"A Dog-man? Wasn't that race extinct long ago? How could they still exist?"

Lainster was no ordinary backwater noble. As an Overlord of the incredibly wealthy Nihilakh Dynasty, his dynasty had been scouring the galaxy for treasures for nearly a thousand years, back when the Necrons were still known as the Necrontyr.

If the wealth of all Necrons