Warhammer compilation

--- Next Morning ---

Okay, breakfast is done. Time to teach the blonde kid how to use healing.

Which one should I teach her?

Life-based healing is easy—all you really need to do is relax and be one with nature, but it's slow and won't fix sickness or lost limbs.

Light-based healing is a bit harder since you need to have faith in something, but it's instant and can fix anything Life can't.

Hmm, decisions, decisions. Which one should I go for…? How about both? I want to see if normal people can learn more than one of these techniques.

Yeah, let's do that.

Walking toward the still-frozen beach, I see the blonde girl sitting with the Necro-girl. They're talking about something, but I'm too far away to hear and not curious enough to use a buff to find out.

As I get closer, the Necro-girl stands up and walks away to the edge where the normal beach and the frozen beach intersect, playing with her bone minion.

Well, at least she's far enough away to not get hit by any accidental miscasts.

The blonde looks kinda nervous.

Let's see, how should I go about this?

"Do you follow a religion?" I ask. Best to find out if she already has an existing faith to work with.

She looks confused for a moment before reaching into her shirt and pulling out a cross necklace.

Wait, I thought Christianity wasn't a thing anymore in this universe. Or was it Catholicism? Judaism? …Don't judge me, I don't know Western religions and all their variants.

Well, at least I've got something to work with instead of having her chant in her head to brute-force her way into faith. My method is kinda like hacking whatever system the Light runs on.

"Hold the cross in your hand, close your eyes, and pray," I instruct.

She closes her eyes, clasps the cross, and starts mumbling something.

[ - Light system accessing = User Mental State Checking - ]

"Now, look inward. There's a small light—reach toward it and hold it gently in your hand."

Her brows furrow slightly, and then her hands start glowing with a pale yellow light.

[ = Correct state = Access Granted = Registering New Priestess Maria Glim as PHS-DGHL-01 = Registration Complete - ]

She opens her eyes and gasps at the glowing light in her hands.

Well, at least she got it on her first try, unlike Necro-girl, who kept accidentally firing off ice blasts about fourteen times.

Now, let's see if it actually works.

Life = Beast-Claw_Execute -

My fingernails sharpen into claws, and I give my index finger a light poke, just enough to draw blood. It should take about a minute or so for my Primarch biology to close the wound.

"Heal this," I say, extending my bleeding finger toward her.

She looks between my finger and her glowing hands, mumbling something—probably a prayer—before the light leaps from her palms.

Light = Divine-Smite_Execute -

And flies straight toward the skeletons.

ZAP!

"No! Shelly!" I hear Necro-girl scream as her bone turtle shell gets reduced to ash by a massive golden light dropping from the sky.

…Well, I take back what I said about her being a quick learner. She's just as bad as Necro-girl.

Better make sure she doesn't miscast with Light first before trying to see if she can learn Life.

--- Noon, After Lunch ---

Following the nav point I set last night, I arrive at the human ship.

Landing the dropship in the nearest clearing, I walk toward the wreckage.

I can see huge pieces of metal jutting out of the ground—looks like one of those massive bridge structures that stick out from the back half of Imperial ships.

As I get closer, I spot a thick glass viewport, overgrown with plants.

Looking around, I find a large section of the glass missing, creating a deep opening into the ship's interior.

Yes, easy entry. No need to search for an airlock.

Stepping inside, I see lots of plants, some dead animal corpses, and a whole lot of random junk.

Picking up one of the scattered objects, I recognize it as a laspistol. Testing the trigger, it spits out an energy bolt onto the floor.

Well, it still works. I knew las weapons were built to last, but this is just ridiculous.

Setting the pistol on a vine-covered chair, I start poking at one of the consoles.

It flickers for a moment before turning on, displaying the Windows Omega+ logo.

Well, good to know some things never change.

Once it finishes booting, I search for a mouse or touchpad to move the cursor.

Hmm, nothing. Touchscreen maybe?

I tap an icon on the screen, and a window pops up.

Okay, touchscreen it is.

After digging through the settings and changing the language from Galactic Standard (Central) to English, I start searching around.

Looks like this was a colony ship bound for a planet named Reva. It carried weapons and vehicles for the colonists' protection, along with an STC Library filled with essential data.

Let's check out the Library.

[ STC Library: ] ^

=> Vehicle-Civilian

=> Vehicle-Military [Blocked. Requires Security Level 10 keycard]

=> Weapon-Civilian

=> Weapon-Military [Blocked. Requires Security Level 5 keycard]

=> Medicine-Civilian

=> Medicine-Military [Blocked. Requires Medical Personnel keycard]

=> Titan/Dread [Blocked. Requires Head Engineer keycard]

=> Food/Cloning

=> Armor-Civilian

=> Armor-Military [Blocked. Requires Security Level 5 keycard]

V

Hmm, don't the AdMech usually get excited just touching an STC? I'm touching what amounts to the Holy Grail for them right now.

Let's see what's in here.

[ Armor-Civilian ]

CMCSL 500

CMCSH 640

Magnetic Barrier Emitter

Hardlight Shield Projector

Vortex Shield Gauntlet

Zul-es Harden Shield Emitter

Acres Kinetic Absorption Boots

Sponge Vest

Whoa, that's a lot of gear—and this is just civilian-grade stuff.

Peep Peep

Hmm, looks like the main power generator is out, and the ship is running on backup power. Better not waste it all browsing random files.

Exiting the STC Library, I pull up a map of the ship.

…This thing is 100 km long, 50 km high, and 60 km wide. That's absurd. I remember Retribution-class battleships only reaching about 5 km. This thing is twenty times that size—and it's just a colony ship. What the hell were Dark Age Tech humans smoking when they designed this?

Now, where should I go first?

===

"I have removed my reproductive system, yet I can still feel it. I finally understand what having a 'boner' truly means."

—Translated from Binary, a random Magos of the Mechanicus after gazing at the pile of STCs given to them by the 11th Primarch.

Chapter 12

As all the Dread-weapons activated, I did the only sensible thing one could do in this situation.

I screamed like a bitch.

- Void = Shadow-Cloak_Execute -

Turn invisible.

And ran away like a chicken.

Bang!

Only to faceplant against the door that had just closed.

"NOOOOO! I don't want to die yet! I haven't found in-universe porn! I still want to see what a strip club is all about! I still want to steal a Tau mech suit and turn it into a Gundam!"

As I stood there, wailing in front of the door like a child denied candy, I realized something:

I wasn't dead yet. The mechs weren't moving.

My screaming stopped as I looked around. Nope. They were just standing there.

This never happened. No one will ever know. I will take this to my grave.

Letting out a long sigh, I tried to calm my two racing hearts before they burst out of my chest.

Walking back to the control console, I checked why all the mechs had activated.

...

Turns out the ship's AI did go rogue and took control of the Mech Bay, including the Dread-weapons and Titans. But before it could do anything, the Head Engineer brute-forced a system shutdown. Then something happened to the generators, which shut down the AI core and the entire ship.

Huh. If I had gone for the generator first, this place would be crawling with killer robots. And if I hadn't reset the console using the Engineer harness, all the mechs would still be hostile, and I would be actually dead right now. Nice job, brain! And people say playing video games doesn't teach you anything.

Ha! If this ship were a survival horror game, I could see all the twists and jump scares coming.

Now, let's see... Aha! I found a command to send all the Dreads back to their original positions.

As the mechs returned to their designated spots, I turned them off. Except... there was still one empty slot. That probably belonged to the wrecked Dreadknight outside.

Checking the Titan Bay, I saw that all the Titans were in their spots, except for one Warhound. The AI had managed to get it out before the shutdown.

Oh fuck. Please be shut down...

...Nope. It was still on, though in standby mode.

Can I shut it down from here?

...Nope. There was a console inside the Titan holding area that could do that.

Oh, come on! Who the hell puts the shutdown console inside the place full of skyscraper-sized, killer war machines? That's just bad design! If they go rogue again, you're inside the death zone with no way to stop them!

Okay. I just need to sneak inside, get to the console, reset it, turn it on, and then shut down the Warhound Titan.

Fuck. Let's do this. Metal Gear instincts, don't fail me now.

I pulled up the map of the Mech Bay to find a way in.

There were several entrances. Most required opening a door, which would make noise and definitely wake up the Titan. But there was one that had no door: the stairs. Since Titans are massive, overcompensating machines of epic size, their bay was equally gigantic. So, engineers installed elevators and stairways to access the various floors. If I used the stairs, I could sneak in silently.

Alright. That's my way in. Now, how do I get to the console?

It was on the seventh floor, near a Castigator-class Titan sitting hunched over in its special repair bay. (Damn, that thing was enormous. It made an Emperor-class Battle Titan look short!)

There were no stairs leading up there, only:

A fire-truck-style lift with those white basket thingies—too noisy. A ladder—absolutely not.

Hmm…

Wait. I could just use Float to go up. No sound, no fuss.

Alright, that solves the movement issue. Now, hacking and resetting.

Prying open the console would make noise. Could I do it without sound?

Taking out my knife, I slid the blade under the console panel and gently lifted it.

Clang!

Hmm. If I did it slowly, no sound at all.

Plunging the knife into the socket, I watched as it worked. No noise, other than the feedback in my helmet.

Good. I had my plan.

Now, time to execute it.

Please, don't fall apart on me. I do NOT want a boss fight with a Warhound Titan.

I slipped past the door and found the stairs. Climbing up to the 20th floor, I passed a Reaver-class Titan before turning left. I walked to the end of the walkway and went down another set of stairs, keeping my footsteps as quiet as possible.

Reaching the Titan Bay floor, I saw the Warhound Titan just sitting there, its lights blinking red.

I crept toward the console, then stopped.

- Arcane = Float_Execute -

As I slowly floated up toward the seventh floor, I grabbed the railing and pulled myself onto the walkway. Step by step, I approached the console.

I put my knife under the panel and gently lifted it.

(Oh God, please work.)

I leaned the panel against the screen.

(Come on, come on, come on.)

I slid the knife into the socket.

(DON'T SCREW UP, HANDS!)

[Hacking...]

HURRY UP.

3

(OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD.)

2

(I'VE NEVER SWEAT THIS MUCH BEFORE.)

1

(PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.)

[Hack complete - System reset to default.]

OH SWEET BABY JESUS ON A GOLDEN LLAMA.

My hearts felt like they were going to explode. My lungs screamed at me to breathe normally. My face was hot, and I was sweating worse than a pig.

I never want to do anything like this ever again. The suspense was killing me.

Pulling the knife out, I gently put the console panel back in place, turned it on, and sent the command for the Titan to walk back into its bay before shutting it down.

Then, I collapsed onto the ground.

--- 3 minutes, 7 seconds later ---

Okay. That was enough rest. I still had to deal with the AI Core before calling it a day.

Pulling up the map, I followed it to a small corridor off to the side of the Titan Bay. Opening the door at the end, I stepped into the chamber.

The AI Core room reminded me of that Dead Space zero-gravity section, where you had to align floating antennae toward the thing in the middle.

The Engineering Software told me to do the exact same thing to reboot the system.

So, naturally, I did the exact opposite.

Some antennae were already floating around from the forced shutdown the Head Engineer initiated. That wouldn't stop the AI from taking over other systems, though.

So I removed all the antennae and dragged them into a corner in the Titan Bay.

Now, according to the Engineering Software, if I pulled out the AI box, it would become nothing more than a pretty paperweight.

Pulling it out was a pain. There were so many different locks—some I had to brute force, others required playing mini-games. (The fuck?)

But eventually, I got the damn thing out.

Tucking it under the pilot seat of my dropship, I removed my helmet as I flew back to the village.

It had been a long day.

I just wanted to sit down, eat dinner, and pass the hell out.

Chapter 13

I took a day off from exploring the ancient human colony ship.

Sitting on the still-frozen beach, I lay back on the ground and stared up at the sky.

The Necro-girl was busy ordering her minions to beat a giant crab to death while fishing up random junk from underwater.

The Holy-girl knelt a little distance away, murmuring prayers to herself.

The rest of the kids were back in the village, kicking around a makeshift soccer ball.

Hmm. Now that I think about it, these kids have been awfully calm.

They literally watched their families and acquaintances get violently murdered by the Dark Eldar.

And from the memories I took from that Succubus, it wasn't just any massacre—it was a 17 out of 10 on the violence scale. These kids should be traumatized beyond belief.

So why the hell do none of them seem to be grieving? No crying, no screaming, just... calm acceptance.

Well, this is a Death World. Maybe they've just grown used to seeing people die on a regular basis.

SPLAT

Turning my head toward the commotion, I saw one of the Necro-girl's bone minions getting chomped on by a giant octopus with a shark's head.

"AHHH, Maria, help! The Shoropus is eating Birdy!" the Necro-girl shrieked.

"Get the skeleton out of the way, Almia!" the Holy-girl commanded.

The various bone minions scrambled away as the Octo-Shark thrashed around. The Holy-girl extended a finger and shouted:

Light = Divine-Smite_Execute -

"By the Lord's Light, I smite thee!" ZZZAAAPPPP!

A massive pillar of light slammed down onto the Octo-Shark, momentarily stunning it.

Death = Greater-Bone-Dragon_Execute -

"CHARGE!" Almia yelled.

Her bone minions sprinted toward the creature, but instead of attacking individually, they started collapsing and merging into each other.

Bones twisted at unnatural angles, spines linked together to form a massive tail, ribcages overlapped like armor plating, a turtle shell smoothed out into a solid backplate, and skulls combined into a horrific, saw-toothed maw. Bone wings and extra limbs shifted into razor-sharp scythes.

By the time the fusion was complete, what had once been a bunch of mismatched skeletons had formed into a massive, bladed, skeletal dragon.

And it absolutely wrecked the Octo-Shark.

The impact was so strong that the half-eaten seagull skeleton got spit out, only to immediately collapse and merge with the dragon.

Within moments, the dragon had ripped the Octo-Shark apart and was now devouring its remains. (Wait, do octopuses even have bones?) Apparently, whatever it was eating helped it sprout two additional scythe arms on its back.

Huh. That was... interesting. Another thing she could do that I technically could as well—if I could be bothered to put in the effort to learn it.

I remained in my spot as Almia ordered her new pet abomination to drag the boneless corpse back to the village. Meanwhile, Maria knelt back down and resumed whatever holy thing she'd been doing.

Yep. What a nice day.

Chapter 14

--- Next Day, After Lunch ---

Taking a break was a good idea. I feel so much better after lazing around in the sun all day.

The kids didn't seem to care much about the armor I was wearing—just the occasional glance, but that was it.

Slipping my helmet back on and reattaching the Engineering Harness, I climbed into the dropship and flew back to the colony ship.

Let's see... I've dealt with the Mech Bay and the AI Core. That leaves:

The Hangar has a bit of a fuel spill. A random spark could set off a nice, ship-sized explosion. The oxygen system is completely screwed—some areas haven't had normal air conditions restored in Emperor-knows how long. The Engine Room has no oxygen, and someone ripped out a few dozen critical wires. The Omni-Glaive Hyper Las-Obliteration Cannon has a cracked primary focusing mirror. The Gellar Field is utterly ruined. I'm pretty sure there's a Warp Rift inside—I can sense the damn thing from 60 kilometers away. The Human Quarters have no life signs, yet something keeps triggering the alarms every few days. It's big, it's fast, and there's a lot of them. The Cargo Bay has a giant hole leading to a cave system beneath the ship. Need to seal that up. There are six different generators scattered throughout the ship (Mid-Up, Mid-Low, Back-Up, Back-Low, Front-Up, Front-Low). Every single one is offline. The whole ship has been running on some weird thermal absorption device scavenging energy from the surroundings and the sun. The Clone Bay is on for some reason and is using a significant amount of backup power. Not enough to shut everything else down, but enough to make things not work properly.

The biggest issue right now is the Hangar—I can't restore power if the whole place is a giant puddle of flammable death. That needs fixing first.

Checking the ship's map, I see that I need to take an elevator down to Tramp-Station 4, then walk about 10 kilometers to reach the Hangar.

Reaching the elevator, I promptly removed the floor of the metal death box, fired a grappling hook into the wall, and lowered myself down manually. No way in hell was I trusting ancient human elevators.

After a bit of trial and error, I found the right floor. As I jogged down the corridor, I noticed a Medbay. Might as well check it out.

Swiping my key card across the scanner, the door slid open.

Inside, everything was pristine—not even a speck of dust. The walls had a pleasant light blue color, much nicer than the dull grey of the corridor.

Rummaging through the cabinets, I found:

Expired pills (trash), A needle-less injector (AWESOME), Some kind of medical scanner, A legit Medic-Gun (yoink—replacing one of my standard las-pistols), And the Head Doctor's Key Card—granting access to the Clone Bay (yay, no backtracking).

With my loot secured, I continued toward the tram station. Thankfully, this one actually had a train in working order. I selected the Hangar as my destination and hit the button.

--- Five Minutes Later ---

As the train arrived at the Hangar entrance, I noticed dry, blackened liquid smeared across the door. Probably shouldn't open that.

Taking the side entrance, I entered from the sixth floor.

Looking down, I saw an entire lake of fighter fuel covering the Hangar floor. Barrels and crates floated in it, with a few Thunderhawks piled up in the middle of the mess.

Checking the map again, I made my way to the control console. Resetting it with my data knife, I turned it on.

Apparently, ancient humans had encountered this problem before—there was a drainage system beneath the Hangar and an emergency sprinkler system designed to disperse a special solution that would neutralize the fuel.

But—of course—there was a problem. I needed the Captain's Key Card to activate it.

How the hell was I supposed to know where that was?

After randomly clicking through console folders, I finally found a personnel search program.

[ Searching for - Captain Arsis - . . . . . . . . . Location Found ]

The hell? The key is in the Human Quarters.

And it's moving.

Oh, for the love of the Emperor. Please don't tell me something ate it.

Great. Now I had to backtrack to another section of the ship. Damn survival horror mechanics.

Pulling up the map, I plotted my route:

Take the train from Tramp-Station 4 to the Clone Bay. Use the Mass-Personnel Lift to reach Tramp-Station 2. Board another train to the Human Quarters.

I hate backtracking.

--- Eight Minutes Later ---

As the train arrived at the Clone Bay, I noticed the lights were on, and the sound of electricity crackling filled the air.

Climbing a set of stairs, I peered through a glass window overlooking the bay.

Inside...

I saw something that should not exist in this time period.

They were running around, killing each other, only for another to emerge from a cloning pod.

NOPE.

I turned around and walked straight to the Mass-Personnel Lift.

NOPE.

I rode the lift up to Tramp-Station 2.

NOPE.

I took the train to the Human Quarters.

NOPE.

Then the doors opened, and a corpse of one of those things sat right in front of me.

NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE.

I stepped inside.

NOPE.

One of them lunged at me.

- Life = Titan-Arm + Stone-Skin + Iron-Skin _Execute -

I grabbed its head and ripped it off.

NOPE.

Both hands went to my las-pistols.

NOPE. Zap.

Another one dropped, a smoking hole in its head.

NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE.

As I kept walking, more of them rushed at me—only to be greeted with the same fate.

NOPE.

I kept killing until only one remained—the big one. And I was pretty sure it had the key.

- Life = Dense-Hide + Gargant-Strength + Frenzy + Hunger + Savage-Might + Roar-of-Beast _Execute -

I tackled it to the ground and gripped its head.

NOPE.

Then I ripped it off.

NOPE.

Checking its stomach, I found the key lodged inside.

Without a word, I turned around, got back on the train, and headed toward the Oxygen Room. Then I walked around, found Tramp-Station 3, passed the Mech Bay, and climbed up to the Bridge.

Stepping outside, I boarded the dropship and immediately began banging my head against the floor.

"WHY ARE THERE TYRANID GENE-STEALERS HERE OF ALL PLACES?! IT MAKES NO SENSE!"

—Primarch of the 11th Legion

Chapter 15

After I was done banging my head against the floor, I decided to stop being crazy.

Alright. The Tyranids are here. How? Doesn't matter. What matters is getting rid of them.

From what I can tell, they're feral—no Overmind guiding their actions—just mindlessly attacking anything they see. That makes my job easier.

I got up, dusted myself off, and headed back toward the Human Quarters.

As soon as I stepped in, another Genestealer lunged at me, claws aiming for my face—only to catch a las-bolt between the eyes.

I glanced around at the corpses littering the ground, still fresh from my earlier handiwork.

Death = Raise-Undead_Execute -

Tyranids, meet zombie Tyranids.

I sent my newly raised undead Genestealers on the hunt. Their first targets? Any other living Tyranid they could find.

With both las-pistols in hand, I ran in after them.

The fight lasted a while, but in the end, numbers were on my side. My undead didn't tire. They didn't need most of their internal organs. And for every Tyranid they killed, their numbers grew.

Eventually, I traced the infestation back to an air vent. So, I did the logical thing—I sent my zombie horde crawling in after them.

With that dealt with, I made my way to the Clonebay.

Same strategy. Shoot. Raise. Repeat.

It didn't take long for my undead to outnumber the living Tyranids. This place was already packed with corpses, so I had plenty of material to work with.

While my undead waged war against an endless tide of Genestealers, I hacked into the main console and reset all the cloning chambers and Vitae-Wombs back to default.

With the system reset, their numbers dwindled—until there were none left.

I looked at my current force. 4,589 zombie Tyranids. Not bad. I sent them off to sweep the ship, ensuring no survivors.

Checking the clock, it was already 8 PM. I should head back to the village soon—but first, I needed to make absolutely sure no living Tyranid was left breathing.

Digging into the console logs, I found out what happened.

Some idiot scientist—quack-tier incompetence—had found Tyranid samples on Fenris of all places. After the ship crashed, he had the brilliant idea of cloning them, mixing them with human DNA, and linking them to his own pheromones for control.

Because, you know, nothing ever goes wrong when you mix Tyranids with humans.

Predictably, it all went to hell.

The guy went mad with power, kidnapped a bunch of women, and lived out his deranged fantasies until one of them shanked him with a hidden weapon.

With him dead, the control pheromones stopped working.

The Tyranids lost their minds, slaughtered everyone, and had been aimlessly wandering around ever since—because, apparently, nobody thought to shut down the cloning lab.

As for why the lab was still spitting out Genestealers by the dozen?

…Yeah, that was my bad.

Turns out when I reactivated some consoles back on the bridge, I unknowingly restarted the whole cloning process.

Whoops.

Oh well. It's dealt with now. No more Tyranid horde running around.

With that sorted, I turned my attention back to the Hangar. Time to clean up that mess.

Hangar Cleanup

Getting back was anticlimactic.

Every once in a while, I spotted a fresh Tyranid corpse—looks like my undead were doing their job.

Swiping the Captain's keycard, I activated the sprinklers and drain pipes.

Within minutes, all the fuel was washed away, revealing a mountain of aircraft piled up in the middle of the bay.

At least the "spontaneous explosion" problem was solved.

Feeling exhausted, I left the ship and flew back to the village.

I arrived around 11 PM, trudged into my tent, and immediately passed out.

Chapter 16

--- Morning, the Day After ---

Yesterday was a bit of a mess. My brain just going NOPE like that was pretty stupid, but I can't exactly blame myself. I've seen enough Zerg and their knock-offs to know how utterly bullshit they are.

Alright, enough of that. Time to go hunt down some breakfast for the kid and then deal with the rest of the problems on that ship.

--- Noon, After Lunch ---

Walking back inside the colony ship, I go over what's left on my to-do list: Oxygen, Engine, Cargo, Main Laser Superweapon, Gellar Field, and Generators.

Oxygen is kind of a priority, so let's fix that first—then the engine.

I make my way toward tram station 3 and head to the oxygen system. As soon as I step inside, I'm met with a lovely sight—human corpses everywhere and a bunch of plants in glass containers and garden pods.

Finding the main console, I reset it and power it up.

Nothing seems wrong with it. Everything is functioning fine, but something is blocking the airflow to certain areas of the ship. Cross-referencing the affected areas with the ship's map, I find that all of them are routed through the Gellar Field room.

And considering that place has a Warp Rift, that means I need to shut it down before oxygen can be restored to the engine and several other sections in the front and middle of the ship.

Oh boy. I already know there are going to be daemons in there. Time to gear up.

I head down to the mech bay and find the deadliest-looking Dreadknight I can get my hands on.

The best option? The Massacre Pattern Dreadknight. Equipped with a Vortex Shield in the palm, Dual Concentrated Las-Cannons on both shoulders, a Twin Digitizer Rifle on the left forearm, a Mono-Edge Chainsword on the right forearm, and a Void Shield Emitter.

Took me two hours to rip the Rapid Velocity Multi-Angle Thrusters from another Knight and attach them to the Massacre, but once that was done, I climbed into the cockpit, set the controls to manual (since I don't have any Mind-Machine augments), and double-checked all systems and weapons.

Alright. Time to purge some warp-spawn.

I make my way to the Gellar Field room. As I approach, I do a final systems check—everything's in order. I adjust the control sensitivity to match my Primarch-tier reaction speed. Standing before the door, I press the arm console to open it.

Stepping inside, everything seems normal at first. But the deeper I go, the air begins to shimmer, and the colors start looking... wrong.

Then, I reach the chamber housing the Gellar Field. And I see it—a massive hole in the air. Its edges corrupting the walls, floor, and ceiling, turning them into twisted flesh, pulsating with blinking eyes. The air itself is shifting into colors the human eye was never meant to perceive. Just looking at the portal makes my brain hurt.

Then, a massive clawed hand shoots out, gripping a chunk of metal and pulling itself free.

A Bloodthirster emerges from the Warp Rift.

Wait a minute—aren't these things way bigger? This one is roughly the same size as my Knight. I could've sworn Bloodthirsters were closer to Titan scale.

No time to ponder. It draws its sword and axe and charges at me.

Yeah, no. I'm taking this seriously.

--- Activating Buffs ---

Life: Beast-Might + Stone-Skin + Iron-Skin + Dense-Hide + Gargant-Strength + Titan-Arm + Rejuvenation + Frenzy + Hunger + Savage-Might + Roar-of-Beast Arcane: Mana-Shell + Strength-Up + Speed-Up + Constitution-Up + Agility-Up + Dexterity-Up + Regeneration + Imbue-Elemental Fel: Inferno-Cloak + Chaos-Edge + Fel-Might + Vampiric-Touch + Unholy-Frenzy Void: Shadow-Dodge + Wraith-Form + Moon-Strength + Corrupted-Touch + Dark-Focus Death: Reinforce-Bone + Tearing-Might + Grave-Muscle + Rotting-Touch + Abominable-Power

Execute.

Damn, didn't have enough faith for Light buffs. Oh well, this will have to do.

The Bloodthirster swings its blade down at me. I raise the Knight's Chainsword to block. The axe comes in from the side, aiming to bisect me at the waist, but I activate the Vortex Shield in the Knight's palm to intercept it.

Both Dual C-Las-Cannons on my shoulders light up the daemon's face, forcing it to stagger back. I follow up by raising the Twin Digitizer Rifle and firing. The daemon raises its sword to block—big mistake.

The bolt erases its blade into floating pixels, much to its shock.

Enraged, it grips its axe with both hands and charges. I engage my newly installed thrusters, rocketing to the side. The daemon spins and manages to graze my Knight's shoulder, damaging one of the Las-Cannons. I retaliate, but it dodges.

It lunges again, only for my Knight's Chainsword to meet its strike. Before I can fire, the Bloodthirster breathes fire at me.

Good thing I preemptively used Inferno Cloak, or this cockpit would be an oven right now.

Just as I block a punch with the Knight's free hand (moron, I'm literally radiating death energy right now), my sensors ping—a second daemon is emerging. This one has wings and a beak.

A Lord of Change.

Oh, hell no. I do not want to get double-teamed.

I kick the Bloodthirster into the wall and fire six shots of the Digitizer at it. It blocks two with its axe, but the rest hit. Its body dissolves into pixels, while the Fel and Void energy ravage its soul, ensuring it stays very dead.

I barely have time to react before a blast of lightning streaks toward me. Raising the Vortex Shield, I charge the bird, tackle it to the ground, and ram my Mono-Edge Chainsword through its chest. Just like before, Fel and Void energy overload its form, causing it to disintegrate.

My sensors scream. Two more daemons are coming—a Great Unclean One and a Keeper of Secrets.

The Great Unclean One looks disgusting. The Keeper, on the other hand... Well, it's not ugly, but it's got too many arms, too many assets, and a weird tail-dick thing. Gross.

I open fire. The Keeper dodges like a slippery eel, while the GUO just tanks the hits. Doesn't matter—my weapons don't care about durability when they erase souls.

Before I can refocus, the Keeper pounces, pinning my Knight to the ground. Three arms restrain my limbs while the fourth tries to rip open the cockpit. Its chest leaks a pink hallucinogenic mist, and its tail keeps trying to stab my Knight's head-camera.

Yeah, no.

I crank the thrusters to max, flip us around, free my sword arm, and drive the blade straight through its skull. Dead.

My systems warn that my remaining shoulder cannon is busted, thrusters are red-lining, and the cockpit armor nearly got compromised.

Time to end this.

Channeling all my Fel energy, I overload the Digitizer Rifle and fire directly into the Rift.

BIIIIUUUUU!

Reality violently stabilizes. The Rift collapses, the walls shift back to normal, and the room is silent once more.

The Knight drops to one knee.

Damn. That was close. But hey—mission accomplished.

Chapter 17

Getting out of the busted Dreadknight, I made my way over to check on the wrecked Gellar Field.

Hmm. The Bridge system had seriously underestimated how bad the damage was.

It didn't just have a Titan-sized fist shoved through it. No, it had been set on fire by Phosphex, shot to pieces by Necrons, looted by Orks, run over by Tyranids, and then pissed on by Chaos.

Ugh. Gonna need to remove the wreck and replace it with a new one.

I really hope the onboard factory can handle that. I really, really hope.

Walking out of the room, I made my way to the Civilian Vehicle Bay. I needed something to tow away both the wrecked Gellar Device and the wrecked Dreadknight.

Alright, head to tram station 4, then go straight toward the front of the ship.

--- 7 minutes later ---

The Civilian Vehicle Bay was in much better shape than the Military one—if you ignored the cloned Genestealer corpses scattered everywhere. My zombies must have gone through here earlier; the bodies were still fresh.

Finding one of those big-ass tractors (a Land Crawler XL), I squeezed myself through the way-too-small door and into the driver's seat.

Goddamn it. Primarchs are way too big for stuff designed for normal people.

Awkwardly, I drove the thing to the Gellar Field chamber and towed away both wrecks. It took three hours, and by the time I was done, it was somewhere between 8 and 9 PM.

Ugh. It's already late. Might as well work through the night—the sooner I fix this thing, the sooner I can use my new giant super-ship to easily conquer this planet.

Now that I was done with the Warp Rift, I still had the Engine Room, the Cargo Bay, the giant laser gun, and the Generators to deal with.

Better start with the Engine Room. If random crap happens, at least I can fix the generators, grab the kids, and GTFO off the planet.

Taking the Mass-Personnel Lift down, I found tram station 2 and rode it all the way to the back of the ship. The place should be filled with breathable air now that I'd dealt with the Warp Rift.

--- 13 minutes later ---

The door to the Engine Room was a mess. Corpses—human—everywhere. Disassembled Servitor parts littered the floor. The rest of the place looked like someone had gone wild with a buzzsaw.

Walking through the carnage, I opened the door.

As it slid open, air from outside rushed in—kind of like what happens when you open an airlock. Corpses and debris got sucked in to refill the air inside.

Thank the Emperor for the magnetic function in my armor, or I'd have been dragged along with it.

This repeated multiple times as I worked my way deeper until I finally reached the Engine.

It was still intact, but wires, pipes, and all sorts of components had been ripped out.

My engineering software wasn't rated for this level of repair. Time to download the schematics from the console.

Finding the damn thing took a while—thanks to all the random skeletons and Servitors scattered around.

Resetting it and downloading the necessary data, I got to work.

Connect coupling A-29 into S-98.

Put a No.4 screw here and tighten it.

Connect this pipe to that valve.

This wire goes through here, over there, and finally connects to—wait, I'm supposed to jump on top of this thing to secure it?

Where does this bolt go?

Where the hell do they keep the lubricant?

Push this block in, then pull it out again.

What do you mean I need a hammer for this? My fist works just fine.

Wait, I have to climb down a tube and replace a wire inside? Damn it. Grappling hook, go!

Wait—this is supposed to go over there? AAAAAHHHHH!

Why do I need a rubber band for this?

Chewing gum? Seriously?

What do you mean "Duct tape the whole section"?!

Where the hell am I supposed to find a diamond in that exact shape?

Why would I need flour for this pipe?

Okay, you know what? At this rate, I'll be here all week.

Time to go get the kids and shove them into the Human Quarters so I don't have to worry about them.

--- One trip to the village later ---

Alright. The kids are settled in their rooms (after I cleared out any remaining corpses). No more cloned Genestealers lurking around. Time to get back to fixing this damned thing.

--- 4 months later ---

FINALLY. FINALLY FINISHED.

Emperor, that was time-consuming as hell. I even had to get the kids and my horde of zombies to help after the first month.

On the bright side, I found a few Knowledge Implant Chairs in the Clone Bay, which let me teach the kids everything about the ship.

Downside? The damn things barely worked on me. I picked up a few things, but most of it just didn't stick.

At least I don't have to worry about them anymore—they're probably smarter than me now.

The giant laser gun and the hole in the Cargo Bay were still problems. But since I'd decided to embrace maximum laziness, I sent half my zombies to fix the gun and took the other half with me to patch the hole.

Fixing it didn't take long—three or four days—but my zombies took forever hauling new ship plating from the factory back to the Cargo Bay to weld it into place.

The laser gun was even easier—there were already spare lenses in storage.

Now, all that's left are the six Generators… or should I call them Reactors?

Wow. These things remind me of the GN Drives from Gundam 00 and the Ahab Reactors from Gundam IBO. Except they don't generate particles, don't mess with gravity, and they basically run forever without fuel, maintenance, or repairs. And they're practically indestructible to conventional damage.

Starting them up was a pain, though—there were 30 mandatory steps before I could even flip the damn switch.

As they powered up, the ship shifted from emergency lighting to full illumination. The air felt fresher. All systems came back online.

Now, all that's left is cleaning up the Bridge.

I'm not a clean freak, but sometimes I just get the urge to scrub things until they shine.

Cleaning up the layers of dirt and plant matter that had built up over the years was a nightmare.

Replacing the damaged consoles took some time, but I got it done.

Getting the ship to start, however? That needed the Admiral's code. And I sure as hell didn't have that.

There are times when you need to be lazy.

There are times when you need to be extra lazy.

And then there are times when you need to be so lazy that you somehow loop back into being productive.

This was one of those times.

I did not spend six months fixing this damn ship just to get stonewalled by security.

Turning on the sensors, I ignored the massive Necron Tomb buried underneath the ship and set the scanners to search for tectonic plate intersections.

There is no spoon.

Chapter 18

As the scanner pinpointed the nearest tectonic plate boundary, I started preparing for the next step.

Land Crawler—loaded into a dropship. Industrial laser drill—check. (Hm, those two things look familiar... whatever, got shit to do.) Plenty of shovels. And, of course, my ever-reliable zombies.

Sliding into the pilot's seat, I hit the afterburner.

Once the laser drill was in place, I deployed the zombies with their shovels and ordered them to start digging a massive pool.

Multiple trips back and forth later, I had ferried even more zombies to the site, maximizing the workforce. It only took about five hours to get the pit dug. After all, zombies don't get tired, hungry, or thirsty—they're just animated corpses powered by necromantic energy. And you bet I was going to abuse that fact.

With the digging complete, I climbed onto the laser drill and activated its arcane subroutine.

Arcane = Mana-Infusion_Execute -

As refined mana coursed through the drill, I began carving runes around the perimeter of the pool.

Runes—words etched into objects to imbue them with magical properties.

Each of my six magic disciplines had its own rune alphabet, but the only one I was remotely competent in was the Arcane alphabet.

Rune work is complicated. If you thought the Japanese language—with its multiple readings and contextual meanings—was a nightmare, this was at least five times worse. The meaning of each symbol could change based on the caster's emotions, the type of magic used, and the intended function. Any linguistics professor would go insane trying to make sense of it.

The level of precision required was absolutely bonkers. Normally, I don't have the patience for this sort of thing. But when I hit peak lazy mode, my patience skyrockets to an unnatural degree.

It took seven hours to complete the rune carvings. The only reason it took that long was because I had to keep repositioning the drill.

Now, all it needed was a catalyst.

Clapping my hands together, I pulled raw mana from my soul, refining it again and again until I held a pure, concentrated Mana Crystal in my palm.

Arcane = Planetary-Mana-Well_Execute -

With a decisive motion, I shoved the Mana Crystal into the center of the rune circle beneath me.

Reality shrieked—as if something fundamental had just been altered.

The Warp roared, its foundations shattering and then reconstructing themselves in an instant—familiar, yet changed.

The planet itself cried out, as though a newborn had just drawn its first breath.

Volcanoes erupted, sending fiery rain cascading from the sky. Massive tornadoes tore through forests, uprooting trees and launching creatures into the air. The earth split apart, forming deep chasms. The seas churned violently, spawning enormous whirlpools that hurled deep-sea monstrosities onto land. Plant life exploded in rapid growth, swallowing up the destruction and instantly reforesting entire regions.

And at the heart of it all, the pool I had dug slowly filled with shimmering, diamond-dusted water.

As the last drops settled, a pillar of azure light shot into the sky, brimming with refined mana.

I directed all of it—bent it to my will—and used it to bypass a stupid security lock.

Wait... +

The ship's Machine Spirit tried to protest, but I ignored it and promptly suplexed it into the digital ground of cyberspace.

With its consciousness knocked out, I seized full control of all ship systems, setting myself as the highest authority. I also disabled all password locks and reset them with my usual password. (Not that I was telling anyone what it was.)

Once my work was done, I released my hold.

The chaotic weather ceased instantly. The hyperactive plant life stopped chugging Red Bull. The dazzling light show dimmed until the pool's glow became a gentle, ethereal shimmer.

Well, that was a thing.

Now to check if any humans had survived my Lazy Tantrum.

"I get very creative when I feel like not doing anything."

—Primarch of the 11th Legion

"I felt that all the way from my home planet."

—Magnus, Primarch of the 15th Legion

"Some of them make it so easy to find. Why can't the others do the same?"

—The Emperor of Mankind, talking to a random Astropath over chess

Chapter 19

Okay, so maybe wrecking an entire planet's ecosystem just because I didn't have the patience to ask a Machine Spirit for a spaceship access code was a bit extreme.

But hear me out—I am terrible at talking to people. I can't even hold a conversation with a bunch of 7-to-10-year-olds without it going sideways, and you expect me to negotiate with a ship? Yeah, no. That's like throwing someone who doesn't know how to swim straight into the ocean and hoping for the best.

Anyway, thanks to the ship's insanely powerful scanners, I managed to locate all the humans on this rock and pick them up.

The planet's human population was surprisingly small—less than 200,000 people. Collecting them took some time, but it wasn't particularly difficult. Their technology level was barely above the tribal stage. No advanced tech in sight—the best I found was a wooden house. These people were scraping by on sheer stubbornness alone.

Naturally, they all thought I was a god. Some believed the freaky weather was me punishing them for something, while others thought I was some kind of divine savior sent to rescue them from this hellhole. Honestly, I wasn't about to correct them. I just shoved them all into the ship's cargo bay and moved on. Whatever conclusions they jumped to weren't my problem. I lack the social skills necessary to even attempt to explain things.

The funniest part? They started worshiping Necro-girl and Holy-girl as goddesses. Some saw them as my priestesses, others thought they were my daughters or sisters, and a few even assumed they were my wives. I hit those guys with a Divine Blast, and that particular theory died instantly. Now the two of them are apparently goddesses of Death and Light. Let's just hope they don't let it go to their heads.

Now, with all the humans safely onboard, I could leave the planet. But there are two big problems:

My ship is still buried under several tons of dirt and a mountain (seriously, the front half is lodged inside a mountain). There's a freaking Necron tomb directly beneath the ship. If I try to take off, it's almost guaranteed to wake them up.

And I am terrified of Necrons. Those guys are the very definition of BS sci-fi tech. (At least, if you don't count anime.)

I cannot fight them. I don't even know if they're Oldcrons (genocidal robots) or Newcrons (genocidal robots and space Egyptians). Either way, I need a plan.

Think, brain, think.

What do I know about Necrons that could help me stall them long enough to run? . . . . . . . . . Light bulb.

Okay, this might work. Big assumptions here, but it's the best shot I've got. Let's do this.

I head to where all the Titans are stored. Each one is a colossal war machine, some even bigger than the Jaegers from Pacific Rim, all armed with warship-grade weaponry.

Standing in front of the Castigator Titan, I really get a sense of just how absurdly huge it is. If Titans had egos, this one would give all the others a serious inferiority complex.

I place my hand on its hull and focus.

- Arcane = Spirit-Walk_Execute -

The cyber-space realm looks like a fusion of Tron and MegaMan Battle Network—fancy glowing walkways and neon-lit architecture stretching endlessly around me.

Looking around, I try to locate the Machine Spirit. Probably the tallest building, right?

Riding a floating data platform, I reach the top of the highest tower. Two girls are waiting for me.

"Uh… hello." Great start, moron. Real smooth. What are you, five?

"Welcome. We did not expect you to have a neural implant of this level."

They speak in eerie unison, like creepy twins from a horror movie. Fantastic.

"Uhh… I need your help with something," I say, mentally screaming at how awkward I sound.

"Strange. You did not need to come here for such a trivial request. You could have simply issued the command from the bridge, Admiral."

Oh.

Oh great, now I really feel like an idiot.

"Well, I'm here anyway, so… There's a chance some enemies might show up with their own Titans. I'd like you both—and as many other Titans as possible—on standby just in case."

"Hmph. There is no need for 'others.' We are fully capable of handling any enemy, no matter who or what they are. Those pale imitations made by lesser hands are unnecessary."

The pride in their voices is almost adorable.

Oh boy. I knew the Castigator was the original Titan, but I didn't expect it to come with an ego.

It took a while, but I barely managed to convince them (the white one, the AI, and the black one, the Spirit) to let a few other Emperor-class Battle Titans assist them.

Convincing the others wasn't as hard—the rest of the Titans were thrilled to have something to do other than sit around collecting dust.

It's fascinating, really. Titans have two Machine Spirits: one for the AI (the mind) and one for the body (the soul). Makes me wonder how many other ships and machines work the same way.

Anyway, next on my to-do list: get better armor. My current set is getting way too tight to ignore.

"Why do the Sacred Machine Spirits take the form of females? What function does it serve?"

—Unknown Magos, pondering the mysteries of the Machine Spirit.

"Some of us find it cute. Have you seen the fashion trends lately? I look fantastic in gold. Besides, not all of us take female forms. Aircraft tend to go for cat or dog shapes, while Titans prefer that creepy twin aesthetic."

—Machine Spirit of Macragge's Honour, explaining the quirks of Machine Spirits.

"Cute is justice. There is no other reason."

—Primarch of the 11th Legion.

Chapter 20

The onboard factory of the ship is absolute BS. It reminds me of those factory satellites from Macross—dump raw resources in, and a finished product comes out the other end.

I use some kind of armor-fitting machine to check my size and then have the factory spit out the best military-grade armor in its STC library: a L.A.W.S. (Land, Air, Water, Space—huh, same name as that one group from Gundam) Pattern Heavy Citadel Armor. It looks like a bulked-up Cataphractii Terminator suit, custom-fitted for my exact size. For now, at least. I don't think I've hit my size limit yet.

Calling this suit of armor BS is an understatement.

First, it's got a hardened energy shield that stops anything—even teleport attacks. (How does that even work?) Then there's the Vortex Shield, which either slaps incoming attacks away or bounces them right back.

The armor plating itself? It's like someone fused Vibranium and Gundanium, making it damn near invulnerable to both kinetic and energy weapons. And despite that, it's light as hell.

The backpack is a mini-super-energy reactor, a high-power jetpack that runs on electricity, and some kind of anti-gravity generator that makes the whole suit nearly weightless—all packed into one neat little bundle.

The chest piece has a built-in power-field generator linked to the entire armor, meaning that if I activate it, I basically become a walking power weapon.

Oh, and the mobility? Absolutely ridiculous. Mechanical servos and synthetic muscle fibers are placed at all the joints—fingers, wrists, elbows, shoulders, neck, hips, knees, and ankles—so wearing it doesn't restrict my movement. I could do gymnastics or yoga in this thing. (Not that I can, but you get the point.)

It's just plain overkill.

The sword, on the other hand, is a little more ridiculous in a different way. It's called the S.E.A. (Slice Everything Apart—seriously, who comes up with these names?). They basically shoved every single blade-enhancing technology into one: Chain-blade, Nano-edge, High-Frequency Vibration, Power-field, Superheated, and Gravity Booster.

This thing is the very definition of too sharp when it's turned on.

The rifle is the tamest of the three. It's basically a downsized version of the Digitizer Rifle from the Dreadknight.

Now that I've got my weapons and my Titan back up and running, it's time to prepare my special weapon—the one my entire plan revolves around.

I fly back to where the Mana-Well (well, it's more of a pool, but I'm calling it a well anyway) is located, carrying a bunch of animal carcasses.

Using their bones, flesh, and blood, along with the surrounding plant life, I inscribe a second rune circle over the first one. This new circle acts as a filter, refining the well's energy into pure life energy.

I carve the runes into the ground using bones and wood, filling them with blood and sap. It takes two days—mostly because I have to redo the whole thing three times thanks to misspellings. (Don't judge me. I'm not exactly an expert in Life Runes.)

Since I'm already here, I decide to make filters for the other five magic types as well.

Light: A nightmare. I had to carve it by hand. My fingers will be suing me for abuse. Took a whole day. Death: Required bone dust to paint the runes before carving them in. Took five days because the wind kept screwing me over. Void: Had to be done at night under moonlight. I have night vision, but I still had to redo it four times. Fel: Needed to be painted in blood first. I was terrified I'd summon a daemon by accident. Turns out, my paranoia paid off—I got it right on the first try.

With all five filters in place, I carve a final rune to link the well to me, allowing me to tap into its power from anywhere.

Spells that were once impractical are now cheap enough to spam. Anti-Army, Anti-Fortress, Anti-Titan? Now I can cast them freely.

Hahaha… HAHAHA… WAHAHA— cough—oh, come on! My stupid laugh-induced coughing issue carried over?! Damn it, farewell, maniacal laughter. We were never meant to be.

Next on the to-do list: make an army.

Easy. Just mass-produce brainless clones, use Necromancy to turn them into zombies, then slap some basic armor on them along with two plasma grenades and a lasgun.

I make about 500 million of them before running out of space in the hangars and storage bays.

As I review my plan, I remember something—my old, pathetic cloak. It's still sitting in the armory. I retrieve it and head outside to milk (read: kill) some giant spiders for their silk.

Once I have enough, I toss it all into the factory and let it spit out a professionally made replacement. Wearing it over my armor looks a bit dumb, but I'm sentimental like that.

I also install a holo-projector in the cargo bay for the humans living there to watch the battle unfold. They've been making offerings to me—mostly food. One day, they even offered me a girl. I just took her aside, taught her some arcane basics, and sent her back. They now think she ascended to goddesshood or something. (People can be so dumb sometimes.) At least they didn't resort to human sacrifice. That would've really pissed me off.

Other than that? Everything's fine.

Sitting in the pilot's chair on the bridge, I hit what amounts to the ignition key.

The engines hum (good sign—means they won't explode). I grab the steering wheel (whose bright idea was it to make a spaceship control look like a car wheel?), and the ground shakes as the ship begins to rise.

Forests are torn apart, animals flee for their lives, mountains crack, and birds scatter in every direction.

The HSCS-20D Ether rises from the ground like a leviathan.

bip bip

Oh, great. The Necron Tomb under the ship just woke up. Power spike detected.

Zap!

Oh, fantastic. They're already attacking. I thought they'd need more time to reboot.

Necron aircraft zip around, firing their signature green energy beams—only to have them stop dead against the Ether's Hardened Shield Barrier.

I scan the bridge consoles. No obvious button for activating the anti-fighter guns. Huh. Must be either manually operated or AI-controlled.

I send my zombies to man the turrets. 14 seconds later, the guns start lighting up the sky, shredding Necron aircraft still covered in lingering dirt from our takeoff.

To their credit, the Necrons actually manage to breach the Hardened Shield and hit the normal Void Shield. They also pull off some insane maneuvers to dodge the AA fire.

Meanwhile, I start teleporting zombies directly into the Tomb entrance via the ship's Quantum Teleporter, forcing the Necron forces out. Mostly Warriors for now. But I need to bait out the Overlord… or worse, the Phaeron.

Time to bring out the big guns.

I point the Omni Glaive Hyper Las-Obliteration Cannon (OGHLOC) at the tomb and start the charge sequence…

Let's see what the Necrons do next.

Chapter 21

As all the Necrontyr scattered into the forests and mountains like headless chickens, I looked down at the Phaeron I was still holding by the neck. Meanwhile, the Cryptek was staring at his hands, muttering something about "not possible" and breaking every law and theory he knew.

With the last of them gone, I shut down the mini sun and surveyed the passed-out Necrontyr around me—plus the two still conscious near me.

Now what am I supposed to do with them?

- Kill them -

Hmm, nope. I don't kill people who've already given up.

- Enslave them and make the Phaeron wear a cat maid outfit -

Well... some dreams are best left as dreams. Some things just aren't meant to be real. Even if I want it. Deep inside, my anime-infused, perverted, Asian heart yearns for it...

Shut up, self-restraint. -

- Let them go -

Yeah, no, that's just cruel. These Necrontyr would probably die within hours thanks to the super-predators that live here.

Ugh. I can't decide.

Welcome to the rare meeting of the 11th Legion's mind as he struggles with indecision!

Hello, I'm his Impulsive Desire, the reason he wastes his wallet on random junk. I'm his Apathetic View of Life—because everything sucks. I'm his Optimistic Side that believes everything is great! We are his Sadistic and Perverted Desires. We want to do very, very questionable things. I'm his Kindness, which he rarely uses nowadays. We are his Creative Mind, which comes up with wild ideas that he'll probably never act on.

Court is now in session! (Wait, is that how we're supposed to say this? This almost never happens... I have no idea what to do.)

5: Yeah, I think that's right.

Alright. The topic at hand: what do we do with the Necrontyr?

1: I've already stated my desire—Cat Maid.

4: We second that! Frilly black opera gloves, stockings, garter belt—oh, and a bell collar.

1: YES! Now that is a look!

2: Nope, don't care. Just kill them. Leaving them alive is a liability. They'll just plot our demise later.

1: We could use the Slave Rune on them.

2: Ugh. Too much work. We'd have to tattoo it onto them, and last I checked, we're not tattoo artists.

5: Let them go. We've already beaten them. They're running away. No need to do anything more—just teleport back to the ship and leave.

2: That's actually crueler than killing them. The main mind already figured it out—they'll die anyway, either to the wildlife or their short lifespans.

3: You don't know that! They might survive and rebuild their civilization!

2: Great job, genius. Now we have another faction running around messing up the universe. As if things weren't bad enough already.

5: How about we take them with us?

2: Nope. When the Emperor finds us, he's probably going to kill them.

6: Stop reading fanon. 30K Emperor doesn't actually care about xenos. If they stay out of the way, he leaves them alone. If they're a threat, he wipes them out. He usually leaves dealing with them to local judgment—it just so happens that most people choose genocide.

2: Still think killing them is the best option. At least we'd put them out of their misery.

4: Can we make their suffering worse?

5: NO. That's horrible. Don't do that.

1: Compromise—take the Phaeron and the Cryptek. Leave the rest to nature.

2: Eh, fine.

3: No objections.

4: Yes. Sexy maid.

5: Well... okay, fine.

6: Whatever.

2: We still have to deal with their loyalty issue. How do we make sure they won't stab us in the back?

6: Already figured that out.

3: Yay, us!

Well... CAT MAID TIME.

{ Accessing Editor Program = File PHS-BLFD-Core Selected = Soul-Slave-Chain = Created }

Fel energy coursed through my hand and seeped into the Phaeron's flesh, spreading like moving black ink under her skin. It coiled around her neck, wrists, and ankles, forming intricate chain tattoos.

As I released her neck, glowing green chains materialized between my hand and her bindings.

I have bested you in combat. Your army has abandoned you. The fear of death now plagues you once more. You are nothing. By right of conquest, I take you as my slave. +

I'm not great at speeches, but that should do the trick.

The Necrontyr woman glanced at me, then at the chains, before dropping to her knees and bowing deeply.

=+ Submissiveness, Fear, Shame, Anger, Joy, Tradition +=

Hmm. Not sure about that last one, but anger is a no-go. A quick pulse of Death Energy snuffed it out.

As sexy as it was for her to kneel before me naked, that's really not my thing. Asian maids are more my speed. I pulled my cloak off and draped it over her. A bit oversized, but it'd have to do.

=+ Surprise, Joy, Gratefulness, Shame, Awe +=

Oh, great. I don't need to feel what others feel all the time. My head is crowded enough as it is. Also, what's with the awe?

Meanwhile, the Cryptek, having finally snapped out of his trance, was now staring at us.

This lowly one wishes to enter the Holy One's servitude. +

He knelt on one knee, head bowed.

Um. Okay. How do I handle this?

Why should I take one such as you into my service? +

That sounded right, didn't it? Medieval movies, don't fail me now.

This lowly one knows how to craft great technological wonders and has mastered the science of plasma. +

His actual response was a lot longer and way too detailed, but that was the gist of it.

That is impressive, but why would one such as yourself wish to serve me? +

Please let this end soon—I'm running out of social MP.

This lowly one has witnessed many things—the wonders of Necrontyr technology, the horrific powers of the Old Ones and the C'tan, the relentless might of the Kork, and the skill of the Eldar. But never has this one seen such a feat as the Holy One performed today, without the aid of machines or the Sea of Souls. This lowly one wishes to learn how such an impossible act was achieved. +

Ah. So he's just really curious about my Light-based revival nonsense. Fair enough.

Fel = Soul-Slave-Chain_Execute -

I repeated the process on the Cryptek.

My ship is in need of repair. Your task is to restore it to working condition. Once complete, I shall impart some of my knowledge of the Light to you. +

=+ Eagerness, Curiosity, Joy, Science +=

At least he's honest about his motivations.

"It is pointless to spy on him. He is the very definition of unpredictable. There is no way to know what he may do next, on a whim."

—Omegon, talking down Alpharius from placing spies in the 11th Legion.

Chapter 22

Well, with the entire Necron Tomb scattered across the forest, running around like headless chickens, their leader and head scientist basically my slaves, I don't really have anything to do now.

First things first—get the ex-Phaeron some clothes.

I know I impulsively enslaved her just so I could shove her into a cat maid outfit, but I'm starting to have second thoughts about that.

Then again, I doubt anyone other than the Emperor would know what I'm doing to her by dressing her in this fetish outfit.

On the other hand, I don't even have a libido. Primarchs just aren't biologically built to have such things. I remember what it felt like to get a hard-on, but this body simply can't do that anymore. So, even if I shove her into it, I wouldn't be getting the full experience. It may look good, but I can't… you know.

= Indulge in your desire, it won't hurt anyone. =

Wait a minute. You're not the voice in my head.

Get out, please. My head is already crowded with six random voices as it is. I don't need more. I'm crazy enough by myself.

Bonk Bonk

Static noise -

Hmph. I guess I'll just shove her in the outfit and be done with it. Maybe put the Cryptek in a lab coat too, just for the stereotype.

--- Two hours later ---

Who would've thought that watching former robots remember all the unpleasant things organics have to do would be this funny?

Getting tired, hungry, thirsty, muscle pain, experiencing flavor, smell, touch, temperature—and the best thing of all? The toilet.

Watching those two struggle for the past hour has been hilarious. They were so embarrassed trying to relearn how to be organic.

I did at least try to get to know them to the best of my limited social skills.

The Cryptek is religious, which is surprising. I thought the Necrons' crazy understanding of science and the universe would make them atheists. Kinda explains why he jumped to my side so quickly. What I did was just pure, unfiltered BS—capital letters required. Giving soulless machines souls and then resurrecting them like that? Absolute madness. The Cryptek even showed me the data from his old body's sensors. Apparently, what I did threw dozens of laws of physics out the window after violating them in ways best left undescribed.

Oh yeah, I did something so absurd that a guy who knows more about the universe than I do bowed down and called me God.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing? No idea.

Right now, I just let him direct my zombies to fix up the ship. My makeshift repairs didn't fix everything—this thing is running on what amounts to potato settings right now.

The Phaeron, on the other hand, is… I don't know. Kinda normal, I guess?

She just accepted the fact that she went from controlling an entire Necron Dynasty to being a glorified wallflower.

She tries to be useful, but I don't really do anything, so she just kinda… stands behind me like a statue.

Kinda reminds me of those medieval movies where servants just stand behind rich people.

At least she looks nice in the frilly maid outfit, cat ears, and a wig.

Necrontyr are bald for some reason. Minimal hair, minimal fur—probably from all the solar radiation they were exposed to on their homeworld.

Hairless green elves. Now that's a weird mental image.

Speaking of solar radiation, should I do something about their lifespan issue? If my Life Sense is correct, they only have a year or two before their bodies give out and they keel over.

(Man, Necrontyr lifespans are short. Even shorter than Mass Effect Salarians. Those guys only live to their 30s, and that's in the best-case scenario where they roll 100d6s and all of them land on a 6.)

I do have Purge, Cleanse, Revitalize, and a few other spells to deal with sickness, disease, or any other bodily issues.

Later. I don't really care if they die. Call me callous, but I just can't muster up enough shits to give. Having them around means I have to socialize, and I suck balls at that. So, honestly, letting them die might just be the easier option.

Maybe I should find something to do. Thinking about whether or not to let someone keel over and die is depressing. If I let it get to me, I'll be useless for a week.

What should I do? I could sit down and experiment with my magic… or I could do that instead.

Making a Trophy Room Is Surprisingly Hard

It took a dozen tries to get the mannequin the right size to display the Succubus armor. Trying to find something to hold the Agonizer Whip was a pain, but once done, it looked pretty badass.

I put the AI core in a glass case in the middle of the room. No worries there—I used Runes to seal the damn thing. No way it's getting out unless some bird-headed idiot decides to poke it directly.

Next up, the Phaeron's old Necron body and Warscythe. Easy enough—just set up a stand to prop it up like a statue.

I even retrieved my old escape pod from the cave and stuck it in a corner.

Huh. All I'm missing is an Eldar, Tau, Ork, and Nid to complete the collection.

--- One week later ---

Ship repairs are going well. Another month, and we can finally leave the atmosphere.

The humans have been worshipping me, which I'm just ignoring. I do not want to deal with that landmine.

The kids found the hologram simulator room and have been having fun there (even if "fun" means running war simulations and beating the crap out of everything). Some have been bugging me to teach them magic like what Necro-girl and Holy-girl do. So, I just taught them different stuff. (No Fel or Void magic—those have way too many lethal spells for kids.)

Turns out children can still do things I can't. One learned Life magic and can go full were-beast mode. Another turned into Swamp Thing and supercharged plant growth. One of the Arcane learners figured out portals and teleportation. Another Death user weaponized bone—walls, bullets, spears, bombs, you name it. And yet another figured out how to go full Ice Age and freeze things until they snap.

The two Necrontyr have been annoying. The Cryptek spends his time observing the kids and recording their magic usage. The Phaeron just… follows me around. I should've left them on the planet with their kin.

Speaking of which, the resurrected Necrontyr are still alive—surprisingly. The Overlords returned to the Tombs and managed to get a few machines working, gathering survivors into their own factions.

They're not doing well. The Overlords keep infighting over who gets to be top dog, and since they're organic now, they actually need food and water. (The water down there is nasty—undrinkable unless you're a Space Marine, Primarch, Ork, or Nid.)

None have dared attack me. The last one who did? Yeah. I gave him a miniature sun over his base for 30 straight hours.

Oh, great. Now we have Orks.

…

And Eldar.

…

And Dark Eldar.

Warhammer, can't you be nice for once?

Have you ever seen an Ork rain from the sky?

I have.

It looks so stupid. Their makeshift Roks come crashing down on the Harden Shield, bursting like eggshells. The Orks inside plummet onto my ship while the AA guns do their best to shoot most of them out of the sky.

Sending the maid away, I open the bridge airlock and step onto the hull. The Orks are already running around, either attacking the AA guns or looking for a way inside.

Grabbing the nearest Ork by the head—

- Fel = Memory-Extraction_Execute -

—I start pulling knowledge straight out of its skull.

- Error: Data corrupted. Gek Yu StnKi Gyt OfF Me BoyZ -

Ow. The memories come in as a jumbled mess, full of random nonsense and fleeting glimpses of something big and green.

Letting the Ork go, I boot it overboard. Turning toward the horde of green-skinned fungus-men, I search for the biggest one among them. If I recall correctly, Orks tend to collapse if their Warboss is taken out. And from what I remember from the wiki/lexicon/4chan, the Warboss is always the biggest and meanest one in the bunch.

"WAAAGH!"

Right on cue, the entire mob zerg-rushes me like suicidal Zerglings.

- Apply all buffs -

They crash into me, but I walk forward, carving through them with my sword and blasting any that are out of reach.

These things are like mud—thick, sticky, and an absolute pain to move through. They just keep coming. I don't have a lot of AoE attacks, so I'm stuck hacking at whatever gets within arm's reach. For some reason, Raise Undead doesn't work on them either, so no Ork zombies for me.

Annoying.

I grab another Ork and shove raw Arcane energy into its skull.

- Arcane = Mind-Control_Execute -

Glare.

Ow. That didn't work at all. The energy refuses to latch onto their brains, as if the Waaagh field itself is shielding them—even the dead ones.

Hmm. They're all connected through that field, right?

That means if I can somehow infect it with Void or Fel energy, I could deal massive damage to all of them at once. I can't do it with a grunt, though—the last two tries just backfired. I probably need someone higher up in the control chain.

As if on cue, the Warboss himself drops from one of the Ork Roks. His ride explodes on impact with the Harden Shield, sending debris raining down everywhere.

What is this, an action movie? Next time, just show up so I can kill you.

With the Warboss on the field, the horde gets even more aggressive. They latch onto me like lampreys, biting at my armor and jamming their chain-axes and klaws into me. Shaking them off is difficult—super strength or not, getting dog-piled by a few hundred Orks is a problem when you don't have the leverage to shove them off.

- Arcane = Kinetic-Shockwave_Execute -

A burst of kinetic energy flings the Orks off me, sending some tumbling overboard while others crash into the AA guns or each other. The Warboss, completely unbothered, just backhands a boy out of his way and growls something incomprehensible.

Wow. I knew they butchered language, but I can't make out a single word.

Oh well, not like I care. Understanding Ork speech is like listening to a blender trying to chew through metal. Ear-bleeding nonsense.

We rush at each other, and for the first time in a year, I meet someone who doesn't get launched by my punches. My fist slams into the Ork's, and his JoJo-tier muscles hold firm.

I rear back with my other hand. He catches it too.

Oh? He's strong, but he doesn't have anything anchoring him in place.

I step forward, pushing him back.

He suddenly jerks his head forward and headbutts me. It doesn't hurt, but it does make me reflexively let go. The Warboss takes the opening and tries to wrestle me.

Moron.

- Inferno Cloak = On -

The Warboss lets go and rolls away as flames engulf me. The fire dies down, and he stands back up, grabbing two fallen chain-axes before charging with another WAAAGH!

Tapping into the memories of an Eldar Succubus, I sidestep his charge and whip out my sword, impaling him into the hull face-first.

As he struggles, I grab his head and tap into the Mana Well, supercharging what I'm about to do.

I dive into his mind, the nexus of the Ork Waaagh, the link tying all of his underlings together.

I sift through the random junk inside his head, looking for the center—where all of his subordinates connect to him—so I can fry them all in one go.

What happens next can be summed up in two words:

"Shit Happens."

[] "You made a big mistake, Human." []

I'm launched back as the Warboss erupts in a swirling green vortex of energy.

Landing on the hull, I see him standing up, his crude armor falling away as his skin rips and mends itself. His entire form grows and grows.

What was once a 5-meter Warboss swells into the size of a Warlord Titan.

My helmet's sensors scream warnings about Alpha+ psychic energy levels.

Around me, the green energy seeps into the surrounding Orks, making them bigger and stronger.

This… is new. I don't think Orks have ever done this before. Then again, I'm not the biggest WH40K lore expert, so who knows?

Well, I can't beat that thing. It's way too massive.

I tap my arm computer, tilting the Ether to the left and redirecting the AA guns to fire at the Titan-Ork's knees.

Activating my armor's magnetic boots, I cling to the ship while the Orks are flung overboard. The Titan-Ork grabs onto the edge, stopping itself from falling.

It glares at me with glowing green eyes before opening its mouth and exhaling a torrent of green warpfire.

My Inferno Cloak eats it whole.

Pressing a few buttons, I have the Macro-cannon fire directly at the Titan-Ork.

As it's flung into the void, it roars one last thing at me:

"I'LL BE BACK, HUMAN, AND YOU SHALL PAY!"

…

Okay, what the fuck.

ORKS DO NOT SPEAK PROPER LANGUAGE WITH GOOD GRAMMAR.

WHAT THE FUCK.

Wait. This sounds familiar.

Where have I read about Orks speaking properly before…?

"Have you guys found it yet?" "No, it's not in the 'random fanon' section." "Nothing in the 'forum' section." "Cool, I just found that song we heard five years ago—" "Not the time for that! Nothing in the 'YouTube' section." "Found it. It's under 4chan."

Oh no.

Oh no.

…

FFFFFFFFFFFuuucccckkk

I immediately turn on my arm computer and slam the big red icon labeled [Shit Hit Fan] on the holographic screen.

This was something I set up in advance before waking the Necron—just a simple "Oh Shit" button in case they decided to bring out their heavy units. Well, at least it's proving useful for situations like this.

- Titanfall Protocol Initiated: Releasing All Autonomous Units -

The air trembles as the mech, vehicle, and aircraft bays open.

"This is Primarch Rey speaking to all AI—GET THE TITAN-SIZED ORK! DO NOT LET IT ESCAPE! I REPEAT, DO NOT LET IT ESCAPE! FULL PERMISSION TO USE PHOSPHEX, DIGITIZER, CHRONO, VORTEX, AND DIMENSIONAL WEAPONS! THROW EVERYTHING YOU HAVE AT IT!"

I watch as aircraft swarm out, tanks and other vehicles speeding full throttle out of the hangars, thrusters firing to slow their descent. Titans charge forward and leap from the entrance, screaming like lunatics—except for the Castigator, who just calmly steps to the edge and swan-dives off like some fancy-ass Olympic swimmer.

...What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Jump in and join the fight? Yeah, right. I don't have anything useful to contribute. Most of my spells are buffs, single-target strikes, minion creation, and utility. No high-damage AoE attacks or debuffs.

Run back into the ship and hide, hoping my army of low-grade (and a few high-grade Titan-class) AIs can handle it? Yeah, no. The Imperium had thousands of planets' worth of resources and still struggled to beat these things—and they were fighting seven of them plus a teleporting Battle Moon.

I rack my brain for a plan—then something distracts me.

By "something," I mean a spear through my elbow.

OW. What the fuck?! That hurt!

My helmet HUD switches to rear view, and oh look—Dark Eldar. Two Succubi, an Archon (I think?), a Haemonculus (ew, and I thought Slaaneshi Daemons were bad), and five Incubi.

Standing a bit off to the right, because apparently, today is "Everyone Attack Rey" Day, are some Craftworld Eldar. One Farseer (oh great, saw me doing something in the future and decided to screw me over—thanks, future me), two Fire Dragons, four Howling Banshees (please don't scream, my ears are sensitive), and three Rangers.

Wait… aren't Eldar Paths not a thing yet in 30K? Shouldn't they still be setting that up? Is the guy who invented it even born yet?

Ugh. Warhammer lore is all over the place.

Why the hell are these guys working together? Don't Dark Eldar and Craftworld Eldar hate each other?

They are willing to put aside their issues if the threat is large enough. Once the threat is gone, they will backstab .

Huh. Thanks, Succubus-memory-absorption. Very helpful.

Okay, I'm screwed. Close-range or long-range, they will kill me. They're too skilled, and if I try keeping my distance, the Rangers will turn my ass into Swiss cheese.

I have no AoE to break them up, my buffs are about to run out, and I'm about to hit my Overheat limit.

I can't just spam magic forever—there's a limit before my body files an abuse complaint and I pass out.

I need to take them out fast, or I'm dead.

- Fel = Life-Drain + Soul-Devourer + Mind-Eater | Execute -

I open my mouth to start inhaling souls—

—and get shot in the throat by a Ranger. Perfectly through the armor gap.

OW. MOTHERFUCKING JESUS BANANA.

My buffed-up regeneration kicks in as the melee Eldar charge. Their weapons bounce off my armor at first, but then they start targeting my joints.

Shank.

Ever been stabbed in the knee, elbow, and shoulder at the same time? Let me tell you—it hurts.

- Wraith Form -

I phase through them as my body heals. The moment I re-materialize, they swarm me again.

This isn't a fight; it's me running around while the melee Eldar try to turn me into a pincushion, dodging plasma blasts from the Fire Dragons, and getting way too many joint shots from the Rangers. (Fuck you, 360° no-scope aimbot assholes.)

Every time I try to suck their souls out, the Farseer calls it out—and boom, another shot to the throat.

This goes on for minutes while the battlefield below explodes in chaos. Missiles, beams, and bullets are flying everywhere. At one point, I see a poor Warhound Titan get yeeted skyward before freezing in place from a Chrono Missile. Rip.

OW.

My train of thought is interrupted by another stab—

RIP.

Oh, look. My arm just got severed.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THAT HURTS.

I grab my severed hand, bash a screaming Banshee in the face with it, and then throw the hand at the ranged units. With them distracted, I soul-suck the Succubus and Incubi—

—only for the Haemonculus to jab some poisoned knives into my knee. Again.

- Life = Cleanse | Execute -

Poison removed. My newly regenerated hand punches him away, but the rest take advantage and stab me in the unarmored flesh. And my neck.

Fuck. My. Life.

- Arcane = Kinetic Shockwave | Execute -

I blast them away—

—and immediately take three more knee shots. Come on! And plasma to the head.

- Arcane = Kinetic Blast | Execute -

- Warning: Mana limit reached – Damage 10% -

I fire off the blast at the ranged units while my insides scream at me.

Ignoring the pain, I devour the remaining melee Eldar's souls. Their bodies hit the ship's hull, wailing.

- Damage 40% -

I think my primary liver and secondary stomach are bleeding. Fuck.

I charge the remaining Rangers and Farseer, ignoring the literal storm of bullets, plasma, and psychic attacks.

RIP.

I collapse, my left knee blown out.

STOP SHOOTING MY GODDAMN KNEES.

My new leg regenerates quickly—

- Damage 60% -

Oh, great. One of my hearts just gave out. This is what a heart attack feels like? IT HURTS.

- Death = Ice Wall | Execute -

- Damage 80% -

My right eye explodes. My teeth are melting. Fantastic.

I inhale—

—and the remaining Eldar drop like puppets with cut strings.

- Damage 100% -

Oh. Hello, ground. Nice to mee—

BONK.

"I'm a coward, paranoid, moronic, and an unskilled piece of shit. Compared to all 19 of my brothers, I'm nothing."

—Rey, Primarch of the 11th Legion

"True courage is being afraid and doing your job anyway."

—Angron

"The burning Necron World Engine behind us says otherwise."

—Perturabo

"You're a sorcery-using abomination, but a 'piece of shit' you are not."

—Mortarion

"You're an idiot of epic proportions, but you invented six schools of sorcery. You ain't as dumb as you think."

—Magnus