Interlude: Night at the Museum

"I am very interested in the Imperium," Trazyn said, then paused, took two steps back, and began to admire the golden sculpture in front of him.

The gold of the Adeptus Custodes comes from their lord, or, more realistically, from the fact that they generally wear Power Armour made of Auramite. Each piece is meticulously crafted, completely different from the mass-produced products worn by most Astartes.

Trazyn had a particular fondness for special things, a fondness that stemmed not from his profession, but from a kind of almost regretful identification.

He wanted to preserve the special people, events, and things in the history of other races—these young races. So that if one day these races were to become extinct, at least one person in the galaxy would remember them and their entire history.

He and his compatriots will never have such an opportunity again.

They are merely a group of dead souls, clinging to their past personalities and memories, arrogantly imitating their former selves, believing they will create new glory, new epics. But the truth is, the Necrontyr race ceased to have any future the moment the Biotransference technology was completed.

History is the most precious treasure left to those who come after, but the Necrontyr are gone, and the Necrons.

Trazyn knew that some of his people wanted to try to regain their physical bodies, but he held no hope for it and had long since accepted his current appearance. He neither missed his physical body nor liked this so-called immortality; he simply accepted everything.

That's why he's standing here, talking at length about the other's Imperium to a member of the Adeptus Custodes whose Stasis Field hasn't been lifted yet.

Trazyn shook his head and began to speak eloquently.

"But not the Imperium of your time, La. To be honest, the Imperium of your era seemed utterly boring to me. I've never seen a race so fanatical about colonization. Considering your efficiency and rate of reproduction, I think it's quite apt for some of my compatriots to regard you as a kind of germ."

"You conquer everywhere, waging war everywhere, and all who disobey are destroyed. If you only targeted the 'Xenos' you call yourselves, that would be one thing, but you even turn yourselves against your own kind. This is truly unprecedented. Although we also fight among ourselves, we go to court."

He shrugged, let out a hearty laugh from the speaker, then sighed, and pointed a finger at La Yaoyao a few times.

"But that Horus Heresy changed everything, didn't it, La Endymion?"

The Necron Overlord paused briefly and began to recall.

"I am a god who has already perished," he couldn't help but sigh. "I never imagined that a civil war between races could escalate to such an extent, with even the entire Empyrean joining the fray, and one of them even nearly ascending to godhood in the material world."

"Did you know? My old friend Orikan glanced over from across half the galaxy and has been self-repairing for almost two thousand years."

Trazyn laughed gleefully; he always enjoyed hearing Orikan's indignant, powerless roars. But the pleasure quickly vanished as he remembered why he had brought Ra up in the first place.

He stood with his hands behind his back, head bowed, pacing back and forth before the golden, glaring statue for a while, as if deep in thought. And indeed he was, Trazyn was contemplating a suitable ending.

Although La Endymion was unaware of his existence, he had indeed spent eight precious years with this tribune. Even for a Necron Overlord, this was not a number that could be easily ignored.

He was about to part with one of the most valuable pieces in his collection, and the entire elaborate set he had set up would also be leaving with him.

Thinking of the time he had spent on them, and the cruel world they would face after they left, he slowly stopped, turned his back to La Endymion, and let out a deep sigh.

"The Imperium of today is not the one you know, Tribune."

"It's like a massive, incredibly outdated machine, where every part needs to devour human blood to keep running. Inefficient, feudal, punishing nonbelievers, extremely conservative, extremely xenophobic, etc. Am I complaining?"

The Necron Overlord turned around, unable to suppress another smile, "This really is—"

His voice abruptly stopped, for La Endymion had vanished.

Trazyn was silent for two seconds, a storm of emotions surging through his nerve pathways, making him almost instinctively want to recall the security agreement—but he ultimately did not do so.

His maintenance technicians and the museum's security chief are out doing their own work, and through an agreement, Trazyn is able to keep track of their movements at all times.

Judging by their usual efficiency, it would take them a full eleven centuries to reach the exhibition hall where Trazyn was located.

"I can't let them know the real reason the exhibit escaped," Trazyn thought. "Otherwise, it would be too embarrassing."

He extended his right hand, summoning the Empathic Obliterator, then cleared his voice and spoke again, simultaneously granting permission to the detection system.

"Tribunal de la Endymion, are you still there? I know you can hear me. Please listen to me, this exhibition hall you are in is a very complex, independent area, and every scene within it was recreated by me personally over many years."

"I know every single detail, like what kind of cover an Iron Warriors should be behind, or what kind of anger an Ultramarines should have when facing the Word Bearers."

"I have goodwill towards you, that's true, Tribune. I awakened you out of that same goodwill; your Imperium needs you, do you understand? And now, I beg you not to destroy these scenes I've so meticulously designed; they're not composed of your companions alone."

Almost without warning, a cruel gust of wind howled from behind him. Trazyn caught it, but instead of dodging, he allowed the two swords to pierce through his chest.

He fell to the ground, releasing his right hand and letting the Empathic Obliterator escape from his fingers.

To be honest, he's in a lot of pain right now. At times like this, Trazyn starts to question why he insists on maintaining such a complex pain system—is it simply to feel more alive?

He cursed his past stubbornness as he coughed up green coolant before hurriedly speaking.

"You didn't need to do that, Tribune."

The tribunal did not answer, but Trazyn noticed a golden light shining in his eyes.

What the hell--?

"Trazyn the Infinite."

The "tribunal for the people" then calmly spoke, uttering a name he shouldn't have known at all.

The Necron Overlord's heart sank. He had a rough idea of what was going on, and the overwhelming sense of panic that followed almost made him shut down on the spot.

He cried out, "No, no, no! Don't do this, Your Majesty! You must at least leave me some possessions!"

The tribunal for the people sheathed his sword.

"I have no such intention." He sheathed his sword and said slowly. "Many brave souls in your exhibition hall should have died on the spot, but thanks to you, their lives have been extended. Although I don't like what you've done, I must admit that you have helped them."

Trazyn held his breath—or rather, temporarily halted the reactor's operation—and stood up shakily.

Coolant or something similar gushed out from the wound on his chest that had avoided the reactor. He casually pressed his hand on it, inserted his fingers to plug the leak, and hurriedly continued talking.

"Thank you, Your Majesty! I truly don't know what to say; your magnanimity has deeply moved me—"

A sword was held against his neck.

"Don't push your luck," the tribunal said. "Your judgment is not yet over."

He strode into the center of the exhibition hall, sword drawn from its sheath. Trazyn quickly followed and began to explain. For some reason, he was now quite adept at this.

"I understand, I understand. I know what I did seems utterly blasphemous to you, but, like you said, I saved them."

The tribunal gave him a cold glance, silencing his story. Trazyn suppressed the urge to sigh and followed closely behind, deeply troubled. They began to walk back, only stopping when they reached the Defense of Olympia.

A black runic stone slab rose slowly from beneath their feet. The Tribunal swung his sword and tapped the slab lightly with the side, easily bypassing its access control and other settings. Trazyn's voice then began to echo throughout the exhibition hall.

Yes, he pre-selected the guide. Museums certainly need guides, and considering the size of his museum, the number of its collections, and its long history, this responsibility could only be undertaken by himself.

Trazyn once took up this position with a troubled pride, but now he longs to go back in time and give his younger self a good beating.

"Ahem—Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Defense of Olympia Exhibition Hall. Please begin your tour from left to right, and remember, do not touch any of the artifacts, or you might very well become one of them."

"Alright, the rules have been explained. Now, I will tell you lucky winners the whole story of this war."

"In the year 048. M31 of the Imperium of Man Age, this war broke out on the relatively militarily weak planet Olympia. If you did your research before coming here as I recommended, then you should know that this planet is the Primarch of Perturabo, the Primarch of the Iron Warriors of the Fourth Legion of the Imperium of Man."

"According to my investigation, he has deep feelings for his hometown, but that did not prevent him from issuing the following order. Please look to the right."

Trazyn cursed himself inwardly, then looked to his right as the voice had instructed. A pale green screen slowly rose, displaying a handwritten document.

He ordered the evacuation of seven of the ten standard camps stationed at Olympia. His order caused a wave of unease and panic in the local society, among both commoners and noble tyrants.

"They can't understand why Perturabo is doing this. In fact, I think even if they knew, they probably wouldn't understand."

"The Defense of Olympia began in this social context, when the evil beings from the Empyrean and a group of Astartes known as the Alpha Legion arrived. Through investigation and some difficult interviews, I came to my conclusions."

"Their goal was actually quite simple: to corrupt Olympia. But why corruption, and not destruction? The answer lies in Olympia's geographical location."

A star map rose to the right of the handwritten document, exceptionally detailed, with Olympia in the center, surrounded by labeled planets, and highlighted.

The shimmering green light illuminated Ra Endymion's expressionless, dark face, making Trazyn's expressionless metallic face appear rather eerie.

"It's a planet with a rather unique geographical location, situated right next to the homeworlds of many Primarch, such as Chemos, Chogoris, or Baal. I have reason to believe they intended to use it as a base to further encroach upon the surrounding star systems and spread corruption to the homeworlds of those Primarch. However, in the end, they clearly came to the wrong place."

Trazyn glanced quickly at the "tribunal," who indifferently sheathed his sword and said, "Your investigation is thorough."

"It would be my pleasure," Trazyn replied in an eerie voice.

The explanation continued above their heads.

Despite social unrest and severe military weakness, the Olympia remained astute, and a small minority quickly noticed a rebellious sentiment, distinct from the mainstream view, spreading throughout Olympia.

"Finally, the then-Supreme Tyrant Calliphone issued an order to impose a curfew on all city-states. Soldiers began entering the cities alongside the Iron Warriors, arresting and questioning anyone who dared to proclaim such rebellious ideas."

"However, incited by those with ulterior motives and those depraved individuals, this arrest and interrogation immediately provoked resistance. People took to the streets, demanding that the evacuated Iron Warriors and Perturabo return together."

"They called upon their Primarch, hoping he would return to Olympia to continue ruling. Meanwhile, another group began criticizing Perturabo. They believed that the Primarch was insatiable in his demands on Olympia and only remembered it when he needed it. Otherwise, he treated it like dust."

"Under these circumstances, a civil war broke out. No one knows why the marches and speeches turned into armed conflict, but even the Iron Warriors didn't realize exactly when the war began."

"The blood of the innocent stained the streets, flames engulfed the once peaceful city, and then, the premeditated Daemon and the Alpha Legion launched their attack."

A somber and melancholic melody began to play, and a beam of light descended from the sky, illuminating the Iron Warriors' battered armor and their furious expressions.

Then there were the Daemon, standing motionless yet still terrifying, their hair and sharp teeth still entwined with the horror unique to unclean things.

The music begins to advance, rising to a climax, becoming breathtaking. It remains sorrowful, yet becomes incredibly stirring, with the drumbeats roaring like a warrior striking a shield with his sword.

Trazyn heard his own voice then rise in a low, guttural tone.

"This war lasted for four months. City-states were burned, civilization was torn apart by brutal violence, and the Olympia fell to the swords of Daemon and traitors."

"Famous historical sites were used as fortifications, civilian houses were destroyed by artillery fire, and clean, tidy streets were stained with filthy blood. The azure sky turned gloomy, and the smoke of battle obscured the sun. Imperium of Man's warplanes engaged in dogfights with flying Daemon, the roars of engines mingling with the howls of Daemon, offering another concerto to this tragic war."

The music stopped abruptly, and a monotonous drumbeat suddenly began. A beam of light shone on the front of the crowd, illuminating a human woman with a resolute face. She had a steel flower pinned to her left ear and held a gun in her hand, Dreadnought fighting the Daemon army head-on.

"Unfortunately, my guests, when I arrived in Olympia, the war was already drawing to a close. The surviving Iron Warriors were protecting the remaining civilians amidst the ruins, almost completely out of ammunition and supplies."

"The Daemon continue to emerge in droves, while the Alpha Legion, one of the instigators, has long since vanished, as if they had achieved their goal. They are angry, sad, and desperate, yet utterly helpless."

"They were unaware that the fleet of the White Scars was approaching at high speed. The Eagle of Chogoris, Jaghatai Khan, knew of this through the prophecies of his legion's Librarian. They would turn the tide, yet the people of Olympia were completely oblivious."

"Everyone who still has the ability to resist is prepared to fight to the very end. Among these people is the human woman before you. She is the High Tyrant Calliphone, the mortal sister of Perturabo."

"She and a remnant of an Iron Warriors army protected 129 civilians, who, in their eyes, were the last survivors of all of Olympia."

"And the common people were no longer afraid or angry. They were prepared to perish together, and their hearts were filled with no more fear or regret, because they had all learned the truth hidden behind that order from Calliphone."

"I must say, gentlemen, that it is precisely because of this that the human race, in times of life and death, can always unleash astonishing power, that I have preserved them."

"Distinguished guests, what stands before you at this moment is a unit from the Defense of Olympia, a small microcosm of this war."

The announcement ended, the runestone slab slowly returned to the ground, the lights dimmed, and darkness once again enveloped the exhibition hall.

Trazyn hesitated, glancing at the man standing beside him. The man looked back at him at the same time, his eyes still Radiance brightly.

"I want you to release them," he said.

Trazyn nodded quickly—he had expected this.

I mean all of them.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty?" the Necron Overlord asked in surprise, then quickly took a step back, and with a flick of his right hand, the Empathic Obliterator fell into his grasp.

The reactor began to glow a soft green light, and he gripped his staff tightly, growling, "This is impossible! I am an archaeologist, the Emperor!"

The tribunal looked at him expressionlessly.

"I respect your professional ethics," he said.

"Then, I'll lower my standards. I only need a thousand Astartes, ten thousand Auxilia, and about fifty thousand Secutarii. Don't try to fool me; I know you have many backups. This exhibition hall doesn't contain all your exhibits. Take them back to the vicinity of Sotha, and be quick, understand?"

"I--this--" Trazyn suddenly felt a dryness in his mouth.

"Otherwise, your museum will be reduced to ashes today," the tribunal said.

The longsword in his hand began to heat up.

"By agreeing to this proposal, I will allow you to continue to retain the other individuals and continue to turn a blind eye to your future actions. You can continue to shine in your career, pour your passion into it, and save those who would otherwise be doomed."

"Remember, I'm talking about people who are destined to die. There are some things you'd better not do anymore, and when you have time, send back the people you took with you."

"You're a complete robber!" Trazyn shouted. "I've never seen such an unreasonable bastard!"

The "protector of the people" smiled.

He sheathed his sword, walked with his hands behind his back into the depths of the exhibition hall, but his voice still echoed in Trazyn's ears, "Likewise, the Infinite."