I Miss You All So Much

At this very moment, the power of the Warp permeates the Material Universe.

Just as the Warp can corrupt Space Marines, at this moment, the Warp redeems the Necrons.

The blue-gold mist seeped into their Necrodermis bodies, into their energy cores, and into the remnants of their fragmented souls, which had remained undisturbed for 65 million years.

That power was not strong, not domineering, and not devastating.

It gently touches those dormant memories, like a mother's hand caressing a sleeping child.

The long-lost emotional fluctuations affected them, and the backup of memories that had been lost for 65 million years was revived.

The Necrons kneeling on the ground raised its head. Its eyes no longer held the eerie green glow of sensors, but rather a deeper, more ancient, and more life-like emotion.

He remembered.

He was once a minor nobleman who Necrontyr, living on a warm planet illuminated by stars.

He has a wife and a daughter.

He remembered his daughter, her bright eyes, her long golden hair, and her always smiling face.

He remembered that afternoon, under the scorching sun, his daughter laughing on the swing.

The swing swayed high, and the daughter's laughter floated in the wind, her voice like silver bells, like heavenly music, like the most beautiful music in the world.

His daughter asked him, "Dad, why can't we be together forever?"

He just smiled.

Because he knew they would become Necrons, he assumed he would live forever with his daughter and wife.

He told his daughter, "It's alright, we will live forever."

We will never be apart.

He pushed the swing high, and his daughter flew into the air, her laughter growing louder and more joyful.

His wife smiled beside him, a gentle and kind smile, like a painting, like a poem, like a dream.

Then, the transformation began.

He stood on that cold, transformative platform with his wife and daughter.

The faces of his wife and daughter were so heavy, so fearful, so reluctant to part.

He smiled, offering words of advice to his wife and comforting his daughter.

He said they would survive, just in a different body.

It's just a matter of changing bodies.

He was wrong.

The C'tan devoured their souls.

Their consciousness was stripped away, their memories were stripped away, and their emotions were crushed.

All those vibrant, warm, and life-filled things were swallowed whole by the C'tan and turned into nothingness.

Their bodies were transferred into a slightly refined Necrons shell, which retained some memories and some fragments of their souls.

But only him.

Because he was a noble among the Necrons, his status allowed his transformation to be more refined than that of ordinary people, preserving more of his memories and consciousness.

His daughter, that five-year-old innocent and lively little girl, did not inherit his identity, and did not even leave behind the most basic memories.

He remembers that day clearly.

His daughter entered that cold body; her once bright eyes became eerie green sensors, and her once smiling face became a cold metal mask.

She didn't look back, not even once.

She turned and left, her steps mechanical and stiff, heading towards a battle belonging to the Necrons, towards that eternal, endless, and without-ending war.

His wife, the once gentle and kind woman, only glanced back at him.

In that one glance, there was longing, reluctance, and a thousand unspoken words.

Then she turned around and returned to her post, becoming one of those cold, mechanical, emotionless war machines.

Sixty-five million years.

Sixty-five million years of history, sixty-five million years of battles, sixty-five million years of solitude.

Over the long years, he forgot his daughter's laughter, forgot his wife's gaze, forgot the warm sunshine, and forgot the gentle breeze.

He became a machine that only obeyed orders, only carried out missions, and only killed.

Until this moment.

Until the blue-gold clouds touched his dormant memories.

"I beg you, human!" The Necrons stood up, his voice echoing through the communication channel, a voice filled with pain, regret, and the pent-up emotions of 65 million years. "End this! End this miserable Destiny!"

I would rather die with regret for my wife and children in my last moments than not even be able to remember their faces!

I beg you, end all of this, end this slow death of 65 million years, end the tragedy of our race!

He started running.

The Necrodermis body ran across the desolate planet's surface, its footsteps leaving deep imprints on the barren land.

His knees bent, his arms swung, and his breathing—though it was only simulated—became increasingly rapid.

The cold metal on his body began to change.

Bathed in the blue-gold mist, it seemed as if flesh, bones, and skin had grown from the metal.

On that lifeless body, the soul began to shine, and life began to sing.

In his eyes, the eerie green light of the sensor began to flicker, a light that contained tears, laughter, and a vitality unseen for 65 million years.

"Please, please!" His voice grew louder, clearer, and more unstoppable, "End this fate that has lasted for 65 million years!"

End the tragedy of the Necrons!

"Bring true death to those Necrontyr!"

He ran across that desolate land, his steps faltering yet so resolute, like a baby learning to walk for the first time, a child learning to run for the first time, or a teenager learning to fly for the first time.

He raised his hands high, a gesture that seemed to be cheering, calling out, or embracing everything he had lost.

Behind him, countless Necrons stopped what they were doing.

In their processors, the "Clear Exception Programs" command was flashing frantically.

But the command struggled against the blue-gold clouds, against the resurrected memories, and against the emotions that had slumbered for 65 million years.