The Necron forces had by this point retreated from their positions, with the humans dead and strewn across the battlefield, the Ahkyls Dynasty warriors were recalled to the small fleet of ships that hung in orbit. There an Overlord by the name Ealoseum waited patiently as the planetary scan his Phaeron had ordered completed.
“Two abornmal life signs approaching the compound” a dry, husky voice crackled as a large Tomb Spyder crawled its way down from the wall on which it was perched, the skull of a long dead Cryptek embedded in its chest. “Perhaps these were the beings the Genetic Inheritor was concerned by” it theorised, coming to the side of the bulky form of Ealoseum.
“Perhaps, though it strikes me oddly Ysilik,” Ealoseum’s resonant voice answered, “Our lord is of flesh and spirit yes, but he was not known to possess any abilities that would divine the presence of these creatures.” The Overlord was fiercely loyal to his Phaeron, though he was curious enough to question this circumstance openly. After a moment of silence, with only the steady humming of the ship to fill the air, Ysilik spoke once more.
“It is known on occaision that humans have felt random paranoia, and that state of alert leads them to notice what creatures of logic fail to predit...” the construct explained, “It could be conceived that this phenomenon is what gives our Phaeron the precognition required to adapt tactics.”
“Maybe, nevertheless, now that we know there’s something down there, he should be alerted. Ready the fleet to depart, once he finds what he needs we should be prepared to make our exit”
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Cylose stared at the large screen, eyes in full focus as the recorded history of known encounters in this sector flashed in front of him at blistering speeds. His bodyguards stood at their own corners of the room, having already slain all of the administrative personnel that stood before them.
“Nothing of consequence, although it seems your brothers below found a few charts in the archive that could yet be of use to us.” the Phaeron muttered to the Lychguard beside him, it’s golden deathmask stating its position as the leader among its brethren.
“They are efficient lord, and so is Ysilik, there are two life forms outside, readings suggest they are not Imperium like our foes before.” the Lychguard delivered bluntly, incapable of much eloquent speech like its superiors.
Finishing up with the comms array, Cylose turned quickly and slashed it through with the great warscythe in his hand, the flat blade turning the inferior technology to burning slag.
“Is Ealoseum ready to depart?” the Phaeron asked,
“Yes my lord, he awaits our return.”
“Tell him we will be but a moment, I wish to see these creatures before we leave, perhaps they know what I’m here for and have come to intervene. I would not leave them breathing to pursue us.” Cylose ordered, turning to the door and waving his lychguard out with him.
Before long Cylose stood in the open hole his legions blasted in the main door to the compound, lined up side by side with all ten of his lychguard, the scythe in his palm brimming with eldritch energy. Staring down the myriad steps beneath him as two figures march up towards him. The Pariah’s mechanical brow furrows around his eyes as he notices the heraldry in which the two are adorned.
“Necrons.” he growls, tightening the grip on his blade.
