Dark Crusade (14, Silver Skull War

The space station Agidda in Sotha welcomed a special guest today. He was very tall and shone like a silver statue, with eyes as bright as melting emeralds.

Without a doubt, he was not any kind of human being in this galaxy, not even a subspecies. From any angle, the shape of his skull was far from the Imperium's standards of inspection.

Furthermore, he did not arrive in Agidda through normal means. This defensive facility, which was built as an outpost during the Great Crusade, had its internal equipment upgraded many times, yet it still failed to notice when the tall silver skeleton climbed onto it.

The instruments, alarms, and all the pre-set programs failed to function, and neither the instrument nor the people on it were aware of it.

Trazyn was very satisfied with this.

He's here to have something to do, something that could be small or something big, depending on what happens here in the next few hours.

If his good friend Orikan's skills haven't deteriorated, then in about twenty minutes, Trazyn will be able to make a conclusion about the matter.

Good things, bad things, big things, small things. In any case, the matter itself must be settled.

Just like his definition of the human race: insignificant, foolish, naive, brave, wise—and most importantly, extremely lucky and unlucky.

In a galaxy where so-called gods can easily reach into the material world, they actually possess two deities.

Every time he thought about it, Trazyn felt an urge to laugh, just like now. He struggled to suppress this strange sense of humor that wasn't his own.

Trazyn walked on with his expression unchanged—another joke—his hard metal joints gleaming mysteriously, as if he were prepared for what was to come.

He traveled without servants, painstakingly modified a clone, and most importantly, repeatedly sought confirmation of the truth from his friend Orikan.

It took him six centuries to fulfill this final condition.

He had no choice; his best friend was a very stubborn, very stupid, and very annoying jerk, but this jerk happened to have extraordinary knowledge of astrology.

In order to get his help, Trazyn even had to seek help from several ancient overlords. They didn't give him a friendly look, probably because his slumber had been disturbed, but Trazyn didn't care about that.

From the moment Orikan revealed this information to him, Trazyn was determined to find out the truth of the matter.

For it, he could spend two centuries pleasing Orikan, another two centuries threatening Orikan, and then the last two centuries chasing after Orikan across the galaxy.

In the end, he succeeded.

The nearly insane astrologer spilled the beans, revealing all the details without holding back, and then roared at him in utter weariness, telling him to get out.

Trazyn did as he was told with great respect and gratitude, and before leaving the hidden tomb, he left a small gift for his friend as was customary.

Of course, this is no longer something he needs to care about; whether Orikan lives or dies is no longer his concern.

Now, the great the Infinite, the overlord of the Solemnace Dynasty, and the owner of the Prismatic Galleries, the renowned archaeologist Trazyn, is about to complete the most important archaeological survey of his life.

Of course, it's also possible that it's not archaeology, since only taking things from the dead counts as archaeology. So, let's just call this operation an investigation for now.

He walked intently into the darkness, then around this corner, that corner, and the next. The space station map marked on the visual sensing unit displayed everything he needed, along with some flashing red dots.

Okay, actually, it's not some, it's a lot.

They almost completely filled the space station and were fighting against other white lights. In addition, there was a black light slowly approaching from outside the space station, its approximate speed and arrival time marked next to it.

Trazyn glanced at the string of numbers, then recalculated fifty times to be on the safe side.

Finally, he concluded: fifteen minutes.

"Oh my, what a coincidence," Trazyn thought.

He wasn't a superstitious person, but the system of disciplines designed by the prescient Mortarion wasn't exactly superstitious either.

Numerology, though it may sound unreliable, subtly reveals some of the hidden truths in this dark galaxy in a way that defies human imagination.

"If only I had the chance to meet him, I could learn so much more from him," Trazyn thought with a touch of regret.

But this regret quickly faded away, because one of his memory storage units, which had just surfaced due to the triggering of a keyword, told him that if that Mortarion really saw him, he would most likely chase after him and beat him up.

"Why is that?" the Infinite asked himself in bewilderment, then received another floating memory storage unit. "Because you took one of his sons."

One?

The third rising memory storage unit said: No, it's a team.

Trazyn immediately gasped: Oh, I'm on top of myself? I'm really something.

He stood silently in place, and as if by magic, produced a long, yet ancient-looking pipe from behind the metal skeleton.

This is a precious piece from his collection, dating Necrontyr. If Trazyn were still able to smoke, he would most likely have kept it and used it in conjunction with those rare, recreated e-liquids.

But he no longer deserved a pipe; he wasn't worthy. That's why he brought it here, intending to give it away as a gift later.

He emerged from the darkness into a bright corridor. Numerous observation windows, separated by metal partitions, reflected the view outside on the silver wall to his right. Trazyn ignored the twinkling stars and continued walking.

His specially enhanced auditory sensors had already picked up certain sounds, sounds coming from behind a heavy metal door at the end of the corridor. Trazyn listened intently as he walked.

He heard roars, screams, curses, and the sounds of various human weapons.

He suddenly became interested in this, and while rewriting the encoding protocol of that door, he secretly decided that he could write a grand overview of the races in the galaxy when he got back, and the starting point could be sound for the time being.

Starting with sound—what a novel perspective! The roars of Orks, the shouts of humans, the seductive music of the Eldar, and those noseless, blue-skinned people.

Uh, what were they called again?

Trazyn couldn't think any further, because he had already reached the door. It immediately opened on its own, not turning him away just because Trazyn was an officially recognized Xenos species, but welcoming him in with an almost overly enthusiastic welcome.

Its gears creaked and groaned within the walls, stirring a rare destructive urge in Trazyn. He didn't waste it; he immediately used it on a group of Astartes.

These giants, clad in eerie Ceramite, were slaughtering their own kind, even laughing and appearing extremely pleased. Some went further, torturing them on the spot, skinning them, cutting off their faces, and tearing off their bones and flesh—it was utterly cruel.

Moreover, it was an unnecessary cruelty, because their torture only served to provoke greater rage in the enemy.

Trazyn shook his head, coughed, and spoke a sentence in the loudest voice he could muster.

"I say, everyone, stop now."

His voice echoed across the battlefield like a supernova explosion, eerily pausing the bloody murder-filled scene. In that instant, everyone turned to look at him.

And that's exactly what Trazyn wanted.

"Thank you, thank you," he said very politely, and then received a burst of gunfire.

Whether it was the Astartes who called themselves the Emperor's Scythes, or these strange creatures that appeared out of nowhere, they all opened fire on him without prior arrangement.

The clanging and banging sounds continued. Trazyn sighed, staggered back from the shockwave of the bombs, and then reactivated the sound unit.

"I know my arrival is quite presumptuous, and you warriors despise Xenos, but I have come with friendly intentions—and, if I may be so bold, your weapons are utterly useless against me."

"Xenos scum!"

An Emperor's Scythes roared toward him, its poorly designed Plasma Pistol emitting a low hum and firing a stream of blue heat. Dangerous, precise, and deadly.

Trazyn waved his hand and transformed it into a stream of primordial energy.

Then, he raised his left hand and used the rudimentary area manipulation protocol he had installed in his fingers to freeze the warrior in place. A flash of white light, and his running posture and murderous face immediately became quite amusing.

Trazyn estimated that if this continued, it would take him about four hundred human standard years to reach Trazyn's current location from his current location.

If this battle were to end here, and Trazyn were to leave now, he would probably return four hundred years later to find the warrior and catch up with him.

But he doesn't have the time or inclination for that right now.

The Infinite extended his left hand and summoned his Empathic Obliterator through a molecular recombination via a summoning protocol.

This scepter can kill a being and simultaneously erase all living beings around him who share the same thoughts; of course, using it in this situation is not the best choice.

Trazyn was self-aware; he knew that both sides currently engaged in the melee likely wanted to kill him first, and then each other.

Ugh, how stupid.

"First of all, the term 'Xenos scum' is inappropriate, at least in my opinion, and it's very inappropriate to use it to describe me."

Trazyn spoke politely, so elegantly, but the sound wave was extremely violent, and through precise calculation and simple vibration, this one sentence killed a dozen giants dressed in sinister Ceramite on the spot.

Trazyn was about to continue speaking when he noticed several more Emperor's Scythes charging towards him. He immediately canceled the Block Manipulation Protocol, freeing the person who had shot him from the temporal disorder.

The Infinite raised his scepter, politely using it to parry an incoming sword strike, then swiftly struck the attacker to the ground. He held back his strength, extremely cautious, but his enemies were unimpressed; they immediately surrounded him.

Trazyn said in a normal voice, "I have no intention of being your enemy, can't you see that?"

He received further curses and attacks.

Trazyn flicked his right middle finger, a flash of blue light appeared, and several tough tentacles shot out from the tip of his finger, binding the warriors tightly and rendering them unable to move. Their weapons fell to the ground.

The Infinite finally couldn't help but sigh.

"Why are you always like this? Humans may be a short-lived species, but they shouldn't be so impatient, especially since you're not Roboute Guilliman's sons. You should be calm and rational, disciplined, and united."

"We have nothing to say to a vile Xenos like you!" roared one of the Emperor's Scythes he had bound.

"Okay, really? How about this?" Trazyn asked.

He deliberately dragged out the last word of his sentence, and this violent roar became a terrifying source capable of destroying everything. It crashed into the sinister Astartes, knocking them to the ground, writhing in agony and rendering them unable to move.

As Trazyn continued to maintain control of the situation, he turned his head and hips, moving gracefully like a dancer in the center of the battlefield. He rarely did this, and he didn't enjoy dancing, but now he had to prioritize efficiency.

Half a minute later, under his deliberate control, all the giants in the area, clad in eerie armor, knelt on the ground. Some were already dead, while others were severely wounded.

The Emperor's Scythes watched him warily, yet with shock.

Trazyn ignored them, only turning to look at the man who had been yelling at him, and asked, "Now?"

He was met with a moment of silence.

Trazyn, having anticipated this, let out a laugh. He retracted his tentacles, adopting a defenseless stance, and then casually walked towards another group of forces in the arena.

He grabbed one of them, ripped off the latter's helmet, and scrutinized him closely with those burning green eyes. A dozen seconds later, a muffled click suddenly came from inside his body.

"Oh—!" he suddenly exclaimed in shock. "Orikan, you didn't mention that!"

"You wretched metal lump!" the giant he was holding cursed viciously, coughing up blood, yet still managing to utter the words. "The Night Lords will tear you apart!"

Trazyn abandoned him, turned around, and raised his hands to the Emperor's Scythes that had surrounded him. His prized scepter fell to the ground, returning to its molecular state and its origin.

He raised his hands and spoke rapidly, "First, I want you to handcuff me to prove I have absolutely nothing to do with this. Second, I want you to immediately send troops to the surface of your planet."

"You have no right to speak!" someone roared.

Trazyn shrugged, lowered his hand, and watched as the black dot on the visual sensor unit drew closer. He thought to himself, "In a little while, even if you beg me to speak, I won't say a word."

Unless he allows it.