85th Black Crusade (XV: Defendant Trazyn)

Less than three minutes after he entered the cell, Trazyn flexed his fingers, making his metal knuckles twitch continuously.

His neural pathways were issuing a warning; those precious and resilient Necron Technology artifacts were telling him, in their unique way, that danger was approaching.

But this was actually unnecessary, since his visual senses were fully functional and his hearing was unaffected. He could hear footsteps in the darkness and see the human male who was traversing the darkness and approaching him.

At least that's how it appears on the surface.

Trazyn rose gracefully to his feet, the decorations on his travel robes clinking together with a crisp sound, and the reactor on his chest glowed green.

It was a polite greeting, and he wasn't sure if the visitor would notice, but Trazyn wouldn't take it lightly.

Please forgive me--

He bowed slightly, his voice, soft and perfectly timed, emanating from between his empty ribs.

"--Respected instructor of the Eighth Legion of the Imperium of Man, I, Trazyn the Infinite, ruler of the Solemnace Dynasty, an ordinary archaeologist, pay my respects to you."

"Furthermore, Your Excellency, I did not intend to appear before you at this time. I don't know if you are willing to believe me, but if you give me a chance, I will do my best to explain."

"What explanation?" the person outside the cage asked.

"Hmm," Trazyn pondered for a few seconds, then suddenly raised his right index finger and answered the question loudly. "May I not answer this question?"

"Fine, but didn't you want an explanation? Explain, the Infinite."

Trazyn looked at him in surprise, his voice becoming somewhat hesitant.

"Oh! Ah, well, before we begin, sir, do you know me?"

His guest, the one standing behind the gleaming iron bars, did not answer him, but simply watched in silence.

Trazyn couldn't help but sigh. At this moment, how he wished the communication links and runic messages had the authority to communicate with the gods, so he wouldn't have to rack his brains to find the right words.

His ability to use his body for physical activity has been going on for far too long, and coupled with the modifications he made for today, his neural pathways are clearly abnormally active.

Normally, Trazyn would welcome this kind of activity, as it gives him a real sense of being alive, even though he has long since accepted the fact of "death."

But not now; he didn't want to be killed by this person before he finished his business.

Moreover, there's another thing that's also quite strange.

Trazyn began searching for a suitable opening line. The suffocating silence lasted for more than ten seconds before it ended, and the opening line he hastily came up with didn't quite suit him. There was no way around it; the entire set of rhetoric he had prepared over seventy years was not suitable for this occasion.

The timing of those imposters' appearance was extremely unfortunate.

"I began planning this meeting six hundred years ago—no, six hundred years ago, Terra, Your Excellency. I hope you understand that I originally had higher expectations for this conversation, but our shared galaxy has always been fond of treating everyone cruelly."

"It ruthlessly disrupted my plans with a bunch of idiots who appeared out of nowhere, and made our meeting rather awkward. However, I believe the Emperor's Scythes should have already explained to you that I surrendered voluntarily."

"That's what the Necron Overlord said," he said in fluent High Gothic, with a dramatic intonation that seemed to come from nowhere.

After saying this, he paused for a moment, raised his right hand, and made a gesture to emphasize what he was about to say.

"Of course, I understand that mere voluntary surrender is not enough to preserve my innocence. In this matter, I still appear highly suspicious. So, Your Excellency, if you don't mind, I would like to formally begin my personal testimony."

The person outside the cage seemed to smile, "Speak, this court allows you to defend yourself."

"Thank you very much." Trazyn bowed again and then began his statement.

"First, I'd like to explain the purpose of my visit. My purpose is very simple, Your Excellency: I've come here simply to see you."

"Oh?"

"My good friend, the renowned Orikan of the galaxy, and currently residing within your Imperium's borders, known as the Segmentum Pacificus, used his extraordinary skills to foresee this day six centuries ago—or rather, to foresee what is happening to you."

"He was very excited about this, and knowing his foolish, arrogant, and vain nature, I think it's because he felt his skills had improved further."

"Of course, Your Excellency, I must say, he is still a half-baked astrologer. He could accurately predict your return and your visit to this place, but he overlooked one thing—"

He paused again, this time for a very long time.

"The Infinite?"

"It's alright, Your Excellency," Trazyn said softly, then magically produced a long pipe from behind his heavy cloak.

"Please accept this gift. It comes from an era even more ancient than the ancient past. It is a precious treasure that can burn about 85% of the known matter in this galaxy and transform it into tobacco with different flavors and rich layers of taste. I believe it will certainly bring you some small amusement during your leisure time."

"I dare not accept such a precious gift."

"It's alright, Your Excellency," Trazyn said as he walked to the edge of the gleaming cage.

He reached out and forcefully shoved the pipe into the judge's hand, even shaking it up and down a couple of times. The light collided with his hand, crackling, but causing no harm whatsoever.

"This is a personal gift," Trazyn said very warmly. "And not a bribery attempt by the defendant to clear his name—believe me, I would never do such a thing, Your Excellency. I am a man who has the utmost respect for the law."

The judge stepped back without flinching, released his grip, and let the pipe float in the air.

"You can continue," he said. "I'd like to know what you know."

"Of course, of course, Your Honor. In short, I have absolutely no knowledge of the appearance of those strange fools, or of anything that has happened, is happening, or will happen in connection with them."

"I came here simply to see you, to chat with you, and perhaps, if possible, to take a photo as a memento and put it in one of my museum exhibits for my collection. That's all."

"Do you own a museum?" the judge asked again.

Trazyn laughed heartily.

In that instant, he cast aside Orikan, his current predicament, and the purpose of his visit, and instead began to unleash an extremely bizarre emotion that surged and roared through his neural pathways and those complex synaptic networks.

He couldn't understand it at first, but his thought processes quickly resolved the issue. They concluded that it was due to pride and a strong urge to express himself.

This false desire arises because the person confiding in is so special—so special that even the Infinite rarely cares about visitors, feels an urge to invite them to visit his museum.

He immediately began to give a long and detailed introduction, from the precious exhibits of the War in Heaven, to the ancient relics of the Age of the Necrontyr, and the exhibits of the Ork Empire and the Aeldari Empire, as well as some exhibits of other races that appeared only briefly.

Then he began to talk about the human exhibit.

His narration was so passionate and focused that he completely ignored the emotions lurking beneath the judge's questioning, and how utterly carried away he was to dare speak of such things in front of this judge.

If Trazyn were still lucid, he could have noticed them and taken evasive action, but he was now completely blinded by rage.

Even before undergoing the Biotransference, he was an extremely stubborn person. After being subjected to this eternal torment, his stubbornness had transformed into an indescribable and terrifying obsession.

He collected the histories of other races and built museums, but he did not welcome anyone—not even his own kind—to visit them, simply because he did not believe they could appreciate and respect the exhibits in the same way he did.

And now, he feels he has found that person.

He was wrong, but not entirely wrong.

A hand reached out from outside the cage, grabbed one of his ribs, and then roughly dragged him out of the cage, throwing him to the ground.

Trazyn didn't feel any pain, but the brutality and contempt it contained deeply wounded him, causing him to cry out, "Why is this happening, Your Excellency!"

"Who did you just say you arrested?"

His judge asked, and the expression on his pale face gradually changed, just like his identity. He was transforming from judge to jury, lawyer, and executioner—the last identity perhaps being the most prominent.

Trazyn jolted awake, immediately realizing what he had just said, but he quickly calmed down and then laughed again.

"La Endymion," he said with a defiant yet proud air. "If you don't mind, Your Excellency, may I also tell you where I brought him from?"

"Speak," the executioner said coldly in a judge's tone.

"Well, this goes back to the thirty-second millennium of your calendar system. I encountered this tribune near your then-unfinished Galactic Fortress defense project. I intended to greet him and then leave."

"After all, I didn't really want to get involved with these, uh, His informants. But, coincidentally, a Chaos invasion broke out at that time."

"So, I stayed for the time being, intending to see if I could add a few decent collectibles to my Daemon exhibition hall. But I must say, Tribune La Endymion and his army have captured my entire attention."

"They fought against enemies several times, dozens of times, even hundreds of times their own strength, suffering countless casualties and running out of ammunition and food, yet they did not choose to retreat. Out of humanitarian spirit, I found an opportunity to take them away. Of course, I believe my actions were actually saving their lives."

"How many people?" the judge asked, standing up and speaking in a slightly gentler tone.

"Two hundred and twenty-two," Trazyn said solemnly. "The last legacy of an entire Fortress World, mortals, Astartes, the Adeptus Custodes —and the Daemon corpses surrounding them, the blood-soaked earth."

He stood up, and amidst the shouts of the approaching Emperor's Scythes, he casually dusted off his cloak, tossing aside the fact that his feigned hurt pride was completely unrecognizable.

"So, Your Excellency, would you be interested in seeing it for yourself? I assure you, it is an absolutely tragic and heart-wrenching ending, a heroic one that fully deserves their fate."

Give them back.

"Okay, when?" Trazyn said crisply and decisively.

"We'll talk later," Karyl told him calmly.

He turned and left. The Infinite sighed, shrugged helplessly at the Emperor's Scythes around him, and strode after him.

Of course, he didn't take this as proof that he had passed the test, so he didn't stop his narration.

"I've scanned those people, sir."

What conclusions did you draw?

"I believe this is related to an ancient scientific theory."

Trazyn spoke thoughtfully, his cloak billowing as he walked. Two Emperor's Scythes approached him from either side, surrounding him. He showed no emotion in response, appearing instead even more serene.

"Unfortunately, I have no evidence to prove that there is actually a connection between them. However, I don't think anyone could have actually completed this theory before us; the originator must have used some kind of trickery."

"This is truly disgusting. Scientific progress can accommodate wild ideas; even a madman can find a place in it. But such opportunism and counterfeiting are utterly disheartening to me."

"So?" Karyl turned around and asked.

"So, I can offer my help," Trazyn said, his tone suddenly becoming fervent. "I will definitely help you find the mastermind behind this, and then, in the name of scientific progress and truth, expose him."

"So, what do you want?"

"A single meeting."

What kind?

"I'll arrange the meeting place, the duration, the security measures, and the transportation. How does that sound, sir?"

"Can."

Under the unspoken gazes of the Emperor's Scythes, Karyl nodded with unusual calm.

The space station's white lights were chillingly cold, and the blood on the ground was being cleaned up by the Servitor. The drop pod and the Thunderhawk had undergone their final pre-flight checks, and the ground conditions of Sotha were being entered into the flight log.

At the end of their road, a group of Astartes, still alive and calling themselves the Night Lords, waited, covered in wounds.

The leader identified himself as Jando Skraivok, the Count Tattoo.