A human Tech-Priest on the outside, but a Necron king with a soul within.
Liu Zhipeng-no, Castor now-flexed his "brand-new" body. It felt a little awkward, like a burly man forced into skintight clothes. But he soon adjusted.
He began sorting through the information he had just "downloaded" into his brain.
Before long, several keywords sent a sudden jolt through his thoughts.
[Fleet: X Legion, "Iron Hands."] [Legion commander: Primarch Ferrus Manus.] [Mission: Suppress the rebellion.] [Destination: Planet Isstvan V.] [Principal rebel commanders: Horus, Fulgrim, Angron, Mortarion...]
In an instant, Liu Zhipeng, a veteran Warhammer enthusiast, understood exactly what situation he was in.
"Holy... shit..."
The Great Crusade era. The Horus Heresy. The Isstvan V Dropsite Massacre!
Together, those words meant one thing to any Warhammer fan-despair.
It was one of the darkest betrayals in galactic history: a meticulously planned, inescapable slaughterhouse built for the Imperium's most loyal Legions. Three loyalist Legions-the Iron Hands, the Raven Guard Watch, and the Salamanders-had been dealt a fatal stab in the back by the "brothers" they trusted.
And he, Liu Zhipeng, was now disguised as a Tech-Sage named Kastor Alpha, aboard a warship belonging to the X Legion, the Iron Hands. That ship's final destination was that damned slaughterhouse steeped in blood and betrayal.
Worse still, his Legion's Primarch, Ferrus Manus, was the Primarch who suffered the most humiliating, most... brainless death in that massacre.
"I'm done. Absolutely cooked."
Liu Zhipeng, the Necron Overlord who had just been given a new life and swiftly annihilated his first "fan," felt the green glow of calm and logic in his electronic eyes begin to flicker wildly beyond his control, like a Plasma Reactor about to explode.
Run?
The thought lasted less than a nanosecond before he rejected it himself.
Run where?
This was