Orikan looked at Trazyn strangely. According to his logic system's calculations, Trazyn's interest in the positions of the stars was pitifully small.
At that thought, Orikan activated his weapon array. The star-shaped scepter in his hand gleamed, and the boiling temporal field tore through space, nearly instantly smashing Trazyn's metal skull.
"What the hell did you do again? The positions of the stars cannot be altered!"
"Oh, give it a rest! Don't think I don't know about you—you go back and correct the outcome yourself whenever your prophecies fail to come true!"
"The prophecy was not wrong. I merely traveled back into the past to make the result better conform to the alignment of the stars!"
"That's why none of your kin liked you after biotransference! You son of a bitch!"
Trazyn's data stream leapt into the body of one of Orikan's guards. He ought to thank the C'tan for their vile design. Though it was nothing but pure calculation and inference, it could give rise to a so-called "sixth sense" within his cold data core—the inexplicable sense of dread living beings felt when faced with danger.
Alert data flowed into operational commands, becoming logically rigorous directives in an instant. Thanks to this, Trazyn dodged several attacks from the temporal weapon.
Perhaps the only way to make the bastard before him sit down and negotiate properly was for Trazyn's Empathic Obliterator to cleave into his chest, destroy Orikan's neural core, and paralyze him for a microsecond or two.
The star scepter and obliterator staff crashed together. Had they still been as they were in life, it would have been nothing more than two decrepit old men reeking of decay and incense struggling with each other. But now, they were Necrons, cold machines whose bodies had been shaped from living metal.