Chapter Text
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Imotekh had learned to despise the Silent King long ago.
Szarekh had doomed and blessed their people with biotransference. He had led them through the great war and commanded them to sleep for 60 million years, while their worlds and tombs were ravaged by time and erosion.
Then the Silent King had left. Abandoning the very people he had irrevocably changed for his own interests.
He had left their people to suffer and diminish. Allowing the unclean to spread in the galaxy and to their tomb worlds.
And now he thought he could come back and be welcomed with open arms?
Imotekh didn't think so.
He has seen the effects of the Silent King's choices, the broken state he had shepherded their people to. Only to leave to some far off corner in self flagellation and let the triarchy and whoever else had woken up to deal with his mess.
Only to come back and insist biotransference should be reversed.
Imotekh hadn't planned on unifying the Infinite Empire when he had woken up, but he had certainly made sure that the eastern worlds and dynasties would survive. Whether they wanted to or not.
He was now phaeron of the Sautekh dynasty and had full control of Mandragora and its assets, and he wasn’t about to give all of that up simply because the Silent King crawled back.
Imotekh has seen the chaos their people were left, and he is certain he is the only one capable enough to lead their people, to unify the necron race.
The Triarchy had certainly not been pleased when Imotekh had given a very swift and decisive answer to their demands to relinquish his power. The next ship would be shot before they would be able to deliver a message to Mandragora or his flagship.
For the first time since then, Imotekh was certain that the Silent King saw him. Before he had been a nobody to the King. Another nameless brute to command. Why would he notice?
But now, Imotekh was a phaeron who defied the Szarekhan dynasty and the Silent King himself. For the first time, Imotekh could feel the silent gaze on him.
Good.
Imotekh will happily show the Silent King how real war is waged and what a true leader looked like.
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Szarekh had thought he would spend the rest of his existence in exile.
He would have, if not for the new threats facing his people from beyond even their own galaxy.
Szarekh could not sit idly by and wait for the extinction of everything they were. He cared too much about his people for that. He had sacrificed too much for their survival.
So he had returned as the great dynasties had started waking up. He had taken his seat at the head of the Triarchy and the Szarekhan dynasty. He became the Silent King once more.
All that was left was to unite the Infinite Empire.
Instead he had found opposition.
Now freed from the absolute command protocols that Szarekh had destroyed after the war, nobody was forced to blindly follow him. Resistance, even bargaining, was to be expected. Just like when he had announced the great armistice leading to his great war against the Old Gods.
But this time, there were voices, powerful ones, going against him.
The largest and most notable one was the new phaeron of the far eastern dynasty.
Imotekh the Stormlord.
Szarekh had known of the Stormlord. It had been hard to ignore such a force of nature able to completely wipe out dynasties. He had been useful back then. A nemesor who induced fear and awe in people.
But he had never known Imotekh.
Imotekh seemed to be just as vicious and cunning as the stories and rumors of his warcraft. It was no surprise then that he was now the phaeron of the Sautekh dynasty.
Normally Szarekh would not have found the man notable. He has dealt with disgruntled and scheming lords many times before. But the Stormlord was more forward with his defiance and disdain towards Szarekh. Making it clear that it would become a civil war if Szarekh tried to force his will upon the Sautekh dynasty and all worlds vassalized by the Stormlord.
He demanded Szarekh's attention.
Which was something Szarekh had not encountered in 65 million years.
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Their armies had met in battle several times by now. First skirting around their true motives, finding each other in opportune places at the same time. Seemingly there for other plausible reasons.
Imotekh knew better. The Szarekhan armies were becoming a thorn in his side. Intercepting his moves and stalling his advance. Clearly the Silent King had not gotten the message. Why else would he be throwing soldiers at Imotekh's phalanxes and warships?
The Silent King was a coward if he did not even deign to openly declare war on him, and a fool for throwing bodies into Imotekh's unstoppable war machine.
There was nothing he could hope to gain by doing so.
They had spoken on a few occasions through hard scry interstities. Well, as much as the Silent King deigned to lift a hand to indicate his words. His sycophants did the talking for him. The arrogant heads of the triarchy, waxing poetic about the King's will and his power. How Imotekh should swear fealty to his rightful ruler.
Imotekh had cut the connection in the middle of one of their speeches the third time they had this same conversation again.
He could not be intimidated to surrender his dynasty like some lowly vitroform.
It also gave him the facsimile of satisfaction to know that the triarch would be furious for being interrupted.
Soon after that incident, Imotekh started to notice the dais of the Silent King. It started to show up on battlefields against the unclean as Imotekh was in the process of eradicating the filth from a tomb world.
Initially he had not believed Szarekh himself would step foot on a planet not purged of organics, but it seemed that the King had indeed decided to join the fray.
Obviously to claim ownership of the world once it was free of the unclean menace. To strongarm Imotekh of his rights.
Why else would the Silent King himself bother?
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As the final battles against the unclean on that particular planet were drawing to a close, Imotekh could sense the C'tan cursed dais approaching his location. He had no intention of speaking with the monarch face to face or escalating the tension between their dynasties right now.
Imotekh was busy and having to deal with the Szarekhan leader or troops was always more trouble than worth.
Only, Imotekh was not asked his opinion as his combat protocols kicked in to avoid something being swung at him.
His initial thought was an ambush from the unclean, but as he slowed his chronosense he could clearly see the trails of a phase blade.
“I did not expect you would ever try to ambush someone, o king,” Imotekh spoke out loud as he readjusted his warscythe in his hands and steadied his balance, turning to face the serene form of the Silent King.
Szarekh looked at him as he pulled his arm back, not answering the taunting comment. The quiet between them was enough time for Imotekh to process the situation better and realize that the King had translated right next to him, alone.
With the use of his dais, armada or having made a connection to the autonomous spirit of the slumbering tomb world. Either way, he would have more control over their battlefield than Imotekh did.
It was less than ideal circumstances for what Imotekh would have hoped for in a duel with the Silent King. They might be alone, but Imotekh knew he was granted subpart augmentations and protocols compared to Szarekh.
Still, he pressed on.
“Perhaps you forgot how necrons do war in your exile?” Imotekh pressed forward, lunging at the King, who still seemed to have no reaction to his words.
“Did you grow soft after years of neglecting our people?” This comment seemed to affect the golden King finally. Their death masks needed effort to move, making near every necron difficult to read. But, the nodal arrays of their bodies were harder to keep in check.
Szarekh's nodes flashed, but did not provide any readable glyphs.
It was still something for Imotekh to concentrate on as he swung his warscythe, taking firm steps forward as he kept on the offensive.
Szarekh was expertly deflecting his blows with seemingly little effort even as the metal of their weapons sparked with every swing. The power behind both of them was immense.
“I will not yield another planet for your negligence.” Imotekh's vocal buffer grew lower in tone, mimicking exertion while he flashed defiance glyphs from his nodes.
His blunt words seemed to do the trick, to get the Silent King off balance. Not physically, but mentally.
During another swing, Imotekh left it lacking in a feint as he reached forward to grab Szarekh’s carapace with his gauntlet. Heaving the tall lord with all his might, rushing core flux to his joints to compensate for their height difference.
Imotekh had caught the Silent King unaware, and was able to throw the King to the ground in an impressive arc.
Szarekh landed on the dirt and sand covered ground with a loud crash of metal. His cape of living metal barely followed his body, falling to the ground next to him.
Imotekh was looming over Szarekh, one hand still holding his carapace and one metal foot stepping on the haft of Szarekh's staff.
The fight so far had been pathetic, like the Silent King had not even tried. So self assured of his superiority that he forgot Imotekh was a warrior. Dignity meant nothing when you're dead, so Imotekh was never above fighting dirty to win.
Imotekh tightened his hold on Szarekh's carapace, the clawed fingers of his gauntlet tearing into the living metal. Ready to burn the flux tubing underneath with his flamethrower.
Despite being taller than Imotekh, Szarekh did not possess the same girth as the warrior with thick inelegant plating. Making Imotekh heavier than the King, aiding him to keep the Szarekhan leader pinned to the ground.
Imotekh revelled in the fact he had successfully overpowered the Silent King, proving that whatever fancy augments the King had would not be able to compete with skill.
His revelry didn't last long though as Szarekh finally started to fight back properly. Imotekh could hear the flux rushing into actuators and condensation getting boiled from the heating metal.
The power behind Szarekh's frame was immense. With the sweep of a long leg he was able to hit Imotekh off balance and turn his weight against him as he wasn’t able to lock his leg joints in place fast enough.
Szarekh pressed up against the gauntlet planted firmly against his chest, pushing Imotekh back and tipping them over.
If anyone was there to witness the two most powerful necrons still operational, it might have simply looked like two lychguard wrestling for entertainment in a gladiatorial arena.
Both were unwilling to yield any ground they managed to get, holding on to the living metal their hands or blades found purchase in. Using mostly their wits to try and find an opening to restrain the other. Unable to do any real damage in the deadlock they found themselves in.
That was until Imotekh could feel the effects of translation protocols. Szarekh was engaging translocation, but he was also encompassing Imotekh in his orders. In alarm, Imotekh tried to pull himself away. Trying to calculate if this had been the King's plan since the beginning. Duel Imotekh alone and then abduct him when he could no longer escape in time?
The translation protocols activated as Szarekh and Imotekh were both teleported away from the dusty battlefield.
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