The Necron civil war erupted without warning, in the most brutal way imaginable.
On one side was a torrent of destruction, savage, unrestrained, and heedless of the cost.
On the other was cold slaughter, precise, lethal, and steeped in the ancient art of war.
Two of the finest Necron fleets in the Milky Way Galaxy engaged in bloody fratricide amid this deathly silent sea of stars. Every second, several warships turned to cosmic dust in soundless explosions. Green energy storms intertwined with green torrents of particles in the void, instantly vaporizing the surrounding asteroid belt and creating a true realm of death.
"Oh dear, oh dear. They're fighting. They're really fighting."
From the safety of the rear, Trazyn watched the spectacle in anguish, like a collector forced to watch two irreplaceable treasures batter each other.
"What a waste. What an absolute waste! Every warship is a treasure of history, every Necron Warrior a living chronicle... How can they simply destroy them like this?"
The attendant beside him asked cautiously, "Great Collector, what should we do now? The Stormlord and the Silent King seem... to have both lost their minds."
"Lost their minds?" Trazyn wagged a metal finger. "No, no, no, my dear attendant. This is precisely their reason at work. One seeks to uphold his crumbling legitimacy, the other to challenge that supreme authority. Their logic circuits tell them quite clearly that the opponent before them must be erased, with greater priority than any xenos."
"But," Trazyn changed tack, a sly gleam flashing in his eyes, "they have both overlooked a more important problem. One... that could drag them both, along with the entire Necron race, into an abyss from which there is no return."
He glanced at the casualty figures still swelling wildly on the holographic display and clicked