307. Dying Moon's Last Words
The galaxy glittered.
Trazyn did not know how many times he had looked up at this magnificent galaxy. This vast river of stars that had birthed endless wisdom and civilizations seemed several shades more brilliant and strange in the eyes of this intelligence that had briefly ascended to godhood. Perhaps it was because of his ascension, or perhaps because this was the last time he would gaze upon the stars.
He had thought he would be filled with emotion, but in the end, he felt utterly carefree. It was as though he had awaited this step for far too long, as though Trazyn had been awaiting this very day and moment ever since three Necrontyr warriors had dragged him into the biotransference furnace.
The Infinite One simply strode forward. He possessed no ingenious combat instincts, nor any genius for military command—otherwise, he would have risen to a higher rank among the Necrontyr nobility long ago, rather than remaining merely a Historian.
But this Historian had his vast collection. He piled his treasures into a towering heap, then casually set them ablaze, allowing the flames rising from the burning relics to illuminate the galaxy.
The fate of the Necrontyr ended here, together with that of the ancient C'tan. Trazyn gladly accepted this ending. He was not as stubborn or greedy as the Silent King. Bringing down the last ancient C'tan was enough.
Trazyn strode onward and spread his arms—those were merely actions Trazyn imagined. After ascending to godhood, he was not entirely sure how he moved. He could only imagine himself as the Necrontyr he had once been, except no longer weary, but instead full of vigor.
A shriek, like a vast chorus of billions of ghosts mixed together, tore across Trazyn's face and erupted from