17. Interlude: Gods and the Dead (I)

There was a time when Trazyn desperately wished he still possessed the precious treasure of "feeling," but he never revealed it to anyone.

There's no need for that, is there? His Necrons brethren would laugh at him mercilessly, and the barely polite ones would pat him on the shoulder after their laughter and tell him—

"We've always had a feeling."

Trazyn chuckled as he read the words aloud, then shook his head with a distinctly ironic expression.

"Yes, yes, I've always had the feeling, but it's a feeling mimicked by various complex signals in the neural pathways. In essence, how is that any different from Deceit, Orikan?"

Lying to the side, the astrologer, still convulsing, mumbled a single word, "No."

Trazyn looked at him with some surprise; he hadn't expected the astrologer to reach an agreement with him so easily on something.

In the past, such a thing would never have happened so easily; their debates could have lasted for centuries. And at best, they would have parted on bad terms, neither able to convince the other. When they met again, the arguments would resume.

Thinking of this, Trazyn couldn't help but sigh, "This is truly pathetic."

What do you mean?

"All of this," the Infinite shrugged. "The thought that the rise and fall of our Imperium, and even our entire race, will be forged by a fool like you and me, makes me feel like we're hopeless."

Upon hearing his words, the astrologer immediately let out a few sharp, sarcastic laughs from the still-under-repair speaker.

"Don't compare me to you, great Trazyn."

The great Trazyn looked at him expectantly, wondering what new taunts his crippled old friend could utter with that clattering mouthpiece—but he was disappointed; Orikan's rhetoric remained unchanged, the same old cliché.

"Although I'm not exactly popular like you, at least I didn't shamelessly steal my fellow countrymen's bodies, use them as substitutes, and then take everything from their dynasty."

Why should I expect an old dog to learn anything new? Trazyn thought regretfully as he listened to his words. Then, he chuckled and surprisingly did not refute him.

Now it was Orikan's turn to be surprised. His face, which was far less human-like than Trazyn's, miraculously revealed a visible suspicion, and his single eye began to flicker incessantly.

Finally, the astrologer asked suspiciously. He couldn't hold back any longer; Trazyn's unusual behavior had piqued his curiosity. "What trick are you playing?"

Trazyn smiled merrily, suppressing the urge to mock him, and instead spoke slowly in a very gentle tone.

"Hey, trust me a little, okay, old friend?"

Orikan stared at him coldly, then raised his arm. His hand was still healing itself; the Living Metal was struggling to repair the break, and Trazyn's earlier lack of restraint had made the task somewhat difficult.

Trazyn ignored the pathetic display of the victim to the murderer, chuckling and shaking his head.

"How could I possibly let you lose your composure at a time like this? Undermining your confidence will do us no good at our meeting in three hours."

"Also, by the way, you'd better always remember one thing: that deity is extremely biased."

"Eccentric?"

"Yes, he firmly stands on the side of humanity."

Orikan's face immediately fell; clearly, this answer had crossed a line, making it difficult for him to continue.

Trazyn, who witnessed his expression, was too lazy to care about his emotions. What he wanted to do most right now was to take a picture as a memento—but as the saying goes, the astrologer's face was far less human than Trazyn's.

Most of the time, Trazyn felt that his friend looked like a cold, one-eyed iron shell, shrouded in green light, floating in a cross-legged position, and making a series of bizarre gestures, absurd and ridiculous.

Before him, the cold, one-eyed iron shell growled.

"Don't tell me He, like you, is fascinated by humanity!"

Trazyn laughed again, not just out of mockery, but because he understood what Orikan's words truly meant.

He shook his head meaningfully. "Looks like you really did erase your memories, old friend. That's quite remarkable; you astrologers actually allow memory surgery."

"What?" Orikan looked at him suspiciously. "What are you up to now?"

"Nothing's wrong. I don't want your hard work to go to waste. Let's get back to the point—you'd better correct your word choice, Orikan. He's not fascinated by humans; he just thinks..."

Trazyn paused, his words barely audible. "Well, he thinks he's human, you understand?"

Orikan stared at him without saying a word.

"I'm not joking," Trazyn added at the opportune moment, as if afraid that Orikan wasn't quite dead yet.

"I'd rather you were joking!" the astrologer growled again. "Someone of that caliber actually thinks of themselves as some ridiculous, insect-like race like humans?!"

"I don't accept this absurd claim! It's understandable that an idiot like you would be fascinated by them, since you're just as stupid as they are, but He could never be like that!"

"It's him."

"What?"

"I'm correcting your wording; you should use 'he,' not 'him.'"

Trazyn corrected him word by word. Since when, no one could see any smile on his face anymore; only the deathly coldness that metal should have remained.

Orikan was utterly perplexed. His reason told him that Trazyn would never Deceit or joke at a time like this, but...

Trazyn's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Is it difficult for you to accept reality, Orikan?" the Infinite asked sincerely.

"You--"

After a sigh, Trazyn said, "Put aside your arrogance, my old friend."

"You should know that the insects you speak of now have the protection of two genuine deities. Besides, even disregarding all that, how much weaker is their Imperium compared to ours?"

"Yes, I know what you're going to say—you're basically saying they're short-lived and superstitious, vulgar and ignorant, and even deeply proud of it. You've said that so many times, I'm sick of it."

"But you know what, Orikan? I've noticed something for a long time: you, and all of us, have a strange sense of superiority."

"You regarded humanity as worthless grass or something even lower, but they have succeeded us as the new masters of the galaxy, and they even have the chance to reach new heights."

"Sooner or later, their vast, rigid Imperium will be reorganized into a unified and efficient collective, surpassing all our achievements and stepping on our shoulders to reach beyond the galaxy."

"So, if they are lowly maggots, then what are we?"

Trazyn arrogantly raised his chin, looking at his friend with a cruel, almost hateful mockery on his iron face.

He whispered quietly.

"Don't forget our true nature. We were once great, but now we are nothing but a bunch of decaying ghosts, trapped in our past glory, unable to move forward, deceiving ourselves into believing we are still alive—in your words, our destiny has been severed."

"We who emerged from the self-generating furnace are not a race, we are not products of natural evolution; even a stone has a soul more than us. We traded it for immortality, and thus we can no longer make any progress, nor attain any light."

"If that's not enough, then remember this: the Radiance of our Imperium is nothing but a thin veil that can be torn apart with a single tear, while your strange arrogance..."

"Ha, to me, this is more like a self -Deceit, an unwillingness to accept reality. How ridiculous."

The astrologer clenched his still-healing left fist, trembling, and slammed it against the iron table beneath him. With a loud bang, he roared in unbearable agony.

But it was nothing more than a roar.

There were no words, no rebuttals, only a helpless outpouring. He was breathing heavily as he had in life, his steel body rising and falling, artificial sound emanating from the loudspeaker. To Trazyn, it was both laughable and tragic.

He wanted to laugh, but couldn't. For some reason, what he actually did was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do— Trazyn approached Orikan and extended his right hand to him.

"And now, we finally have an opportunity." Meeting the one-eyed gaze, the Infinite spoke calmly. "It might even be our only chance."

A few seconds later, his right hand was grasped.

"But how can you guarantee that this time won't be like last time?" his old friend asked in a low voice.

Trazyn didn't answer the question, but just laughed, a laugh that made Orikan seem like an idiot.

Time flew by amidst the astrologers' annoyance. They tidied themselves up, donned new, completely unnecessary ornaments and cloaks, and stood one after the other in the lower reaches of the nameless ship.

The unique properties of Living Metal have allowed Orikan to fully recover from the severe injuries that caused him to lose his limbs. He holds a Starburst Staff in his hand and leans it against himself without any threat.

Unlike him, Trazyn carried no weapons, even though Orikan had strongly protested—"You should at least pay attention to etiquette; it's too ugly to be empty-handed!"—he didn't care at all.

The presence of a deity did not equate to groveling before them, at least that's what Trazyn thought. Moreover, the god he sought to see might not necessarily appreciate seeing others kneeling and worshipping him devoutly.

If possible, he would probably prefer to see his existence forgotten.

"How wonderful," the Infinite thought to himself. "If all gods were like this, how much trouble would we save?"

"Didn't you think about putting a light source here?" Orikan suddenly asked, his voice clearly filled with complaint.

"Yes, but I turned them all off temporarily," Trazyn replied casually. "Don't ask why, you'll find out soon enough. Only fifteen seconds left."

The astrologer snorted and released his grip. The anti-gravity unit at the base of the staff activated, levitating it and floating behind him.

He himself bent over with effort, forcing himself to appear extremely humble despite the torment caused by his still-healing injuries and the error in his neural pathways.

Trazyn sighed with deep respect, almost wanting to kick him to the ground.

"Never mind," he thought. "Anyway, Orikan has been this stupid for a long time."

As he uttered his unspoken sarcasm, the darkness before them began to surge. The visual sensor units followed suit, uploading errors one after another without pause.

The ground was frosty, and the temperature was so frigid that even the basic functions of the shroud-class cruiser began to malfunction. Trazyn waited silently—he saw no black flames, so he wasn't nervous, but to say he was indifferent would be self-deception.

He kept telling himself: You are ready, you know what you have to do, the future that the Necrontyr has severed for countless years now rests on your shoulders, you must stay calm.

Then the gods appeared.

There was no sound, no movement; he didn't even emerge from the darkness. He simply stood calmly before Trazyn and Orikan, as if he had always been there and had never left.

Trazyn's thought process suddenly malfunctioned briefly, and an idea that did not belong to logical thinking slowly emerged.

He felt that the gods might have already been standing here waiting, even before the word "time" was invented and before the raw materials for ships were even created.

Waiting for whom? Waiting for me?

Following his old habit, Trazyn took a light breath and said, "You've arrived."

The deity nodded, remaining silent. Trazyn, unusually, found this difficult, but he continued, "I, Trazyn the Necrontyr, and he, Orikan the Necrontyr, extend our sincerest greetings to you."

"I really do have a mental illness," Trazyn thought to himself after saying that. "If I were still alive, I'd definitely be one of those drooling lunatics rolling around—why would I make such a pointless greeting?"

He was filled with regret, but the gods paid no heed, simply gesturing for him to continue. Trazyn understood; he wanted to continue too, but how could he?

Under the weight of this question, Trazyn made a move he hadn't expected—he turned to look at Orikan, who was behind him, and then slowly took a step back, signaling the astrologer to take over.

Orikan's single eye blinked rapidly several times, then he spoke with difficulty, "We."

"The agreement," the divine being kindly reminded us.

"Yes, the agreement!" Trazyn suddenly exclaimed. "Oh dear, the agreement!"

He slapped his forehead.