Anrakyr was stunned. He clutched his dented metal skull and stood there, dumbfounded for a long time.
As a powerful Overlord of a Necron Dynasty, Anrakyr couldn't understand—and would never have imagined—that Zarasusa, who had once shattered a C'tan with a Starflame array, would end up like this.
Where had his noble bearing gone? Where was his aristocratic dignity?
The repair array of a high-ranking Overlord hummed steadily. The living-metal skull had long since healed, but the physical damage paled beside the wound to his pride.
Anrakyr swung out his Power Halberd to block Zarasusa's scorching punch, then kicked him in the torso and cursed, "Zarasusa, you bastard, what are you doing? Has time made you so senile that you can't tell friend from foe?
"We're Necrontyr, not those puny humans scattered across the Galaxy like cancer cells."
The rebuke from one of his own made Zarasusa pause, but he didn't stop. Instead, he charged like a steel madman.
"You're the one who needs to wake up. We're dead. We've been dead ever since that damned War in Heaven 65 million years ago. There are no Necrontyr anymore. All that's left is the pitiful machine race called the Necrons."
His seemingly slight fist carried immense force as it slammed into Anrakyr. Such a feeble attack couldn't harm a high-ranking Necron, but the Traveler could no longer swing his halberd.
"There is no future, no resurgence. Why did you come here, Anrakyr? Everything is an illusion. Tell me, why should I answer your call? Can that damned Szarekh restore our flesh and make us a true species again?
"He led us into battle against the Old Ones. He ordered us into those damned Biotransference machines. And he ordered us to enter our long sleep. As his subject, I never betrayed the