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A few weeks ago, while working on some painting, I actually felt inspired to write some minor prose concerning my necrons. These short stories were also featured in my painting showcase and blog, but I thought they might be more apt posted here. I am not a native english speaker, but I hope it is still readable. I will try to add more should I feel the living metal muse strike me again.

First off a short insight into the ressurection of a phaeron.

The air was filled with static electricity and the tang of ozone. The ornate stasis casks on both side of the corridor hissed with steam and corrosive fumes. The greenish floodlights were unable to pierce the wisps of vapor, succeeding only in turning the mists to a lurid emerald color.
With an ear-piercing sound, several of the statis tombs began unfolding, layer after layer of metal surfaces sliding from each other, grinding millenia of dust and deposits between them. A single hand extended from the centre casket. An articulated, metal hand, with nearly every detail of an organic one captured in vivid detail on it's surface. Tiny capilaries filled with restorative oils and liquid transducers pumped over the back of the hand, simulating arteries and blood. Microfiber bundles moved like muscle underneath a flowing metal skin that adjusted it's tension and strength to the force exerted from the inside.
The hand stretched out, flexed it's fingers, and froze. Two pinpricks of emerald light winked into existence in the cask, growing slightly, until they cast a minor reflection on the hand. Slowly but surely, a shape disentangled itself from the shadows inside the cask. In the gloom and the poor lighting one would be forgiven the assumption that this was a tall, gaunt man in a baroque and lurid piece of armour. But the metal skin, the articulate golden death mask and greenish optical sensors in place of organic eyes made clear that this was not the statis pod for any organic creature, but the resting place for something far older, and far removed from the ravages of mortality.
The creature stood over 4 metres tall, it's legs encased in a dark green robe ornamented with flowing golden runes and floating a few centimetres above the floor. Its chest was encased in articulate, and ancient armor, that was attached to its frame, with several micro-generators creating a forest of machinery and pipes on its back, some extending over its shoulders and head. Its face was a golden rictus grin, with a stylised beard, more akin with an ancient painting than any mortal visage.
With a flick of its wrist an ornate staff materialised in its hand, topped by a wicked glaive humming with contained power. It glanced left and right. Other creatures were emerging from similar casks.
Once, it's name had been Sebekhetep, and he had ruled as lord and master over nearly a dozen worlds. Then war had come, followed by biotransferrance and the great sleep. Most data had been reabsorbed into his new frame, but something was off, wrong. Context was lost. Memory was there, but no emotion, no feeling attached to the disjointed imagery in his head. His... its... was there any use to the appelation of gender when one has been reborn into undying living metal? For countless microseconds, doubts raced the synthetic neural pathways of him/its new form. Programmed directives clashed with ancient memories, concepts of leadership and loyalty warred with survival protocols, lessons of aeons past were found incompatible with newly added directives.
As the remains of what was once the man warred with the new machine it had become, it's subjects stumbled. Slaved to his will, his doubts and fears spilled over, damaging memory blockades, uprooting protocols and deleting an entire piece of code and recollection.
In seconds, it was over. A new being looked out of it's optical processors. Not the unfeeling machine that was intended, and not the man used to create it. Something in between. A mental hybrid of sorts.
Tilting it's head, it downloaded the reason for it's awakening, realising that on the surface, something or someone had unearthed a small fragment of the tomb complex.
It turned it's face at the rising figures and a voice, hollow and deep sounded: "My friends, prepare yourselves. I believe we have... visitors"

Fifteen hundred metres away, mainly vertically, adept Sanmich stopped and cast a glance at one of the displays. Muttering a prayer to the Omnissiah, she was to absorbed to notice a tiny warning rune flickering on the motion sensor of one of the servo skulls she had sent into the ancient caverns. It flashed twice, and then the servo-skull stopped transmitting.

And second, an attempt to convey the horror of the flayed ones.

***transmission starts***
Is this damn thing on? Horus-damned vox-caster.. Hello? Hello?!
This is private Jerthus, of the 17th, reporting the loss of the entire company! I have to tell you this so you can warn the others! Warn them!!
All right, calm down, tell them quickly...
A change in air pressure was the only warning my mates got. It was a bit like rapidly ascending in a plane, that feeling of your ears popping. It lasted only a split second before the noise started. Oh, Emperor, that noise. First there was a high pitched, keening, sound, quickly followed by a metallic clicking. These sounds just grate on your nerves, drive the thoughts from your mind and just make you want to clutch your head.
The disorientation and the keening took perhaps less then two seconds, and then suddenly the shapes were all among us. There was no teleportation glow, no drop-pod, no jumpjets, they simply seemed to step out of the shadows, bridging the gap between dimensions with a single stride. They looked not unlike the xenos droids we fought earlier. Tall, gaunt, seemingly built out of a reflective material. But unlike the creatures we faced earlier, who were armed with carabines that fired jagged bolts of green energy, these had elongated limbs, topped with great blades. It seemed every one of their fingers had been turned into a wafer-thin knife, dripping with gore.
The sargeant started to raise his laspistol, but at a flick of the lead creature's hand the sarge's arm spun away in a spray of blood. Then they pounced. There is no other word for it. They bowled into my company with wild abandon, knocking men over left and right. They fought with a near limitless fury, ripping and rending and tearing and chopping and stabbing the bodies over and over again! All in near silence. With all the noise from weapons and blades and gore and the screams of the dying, the creatures themselves never made a sound beyond a nearly inaudible keening.
I did the only thing I could. I prayed, and I ran. I only looked back once, and I wish I never had. The creatures were not at my heels as I had feared. No, they were to engrossed in dismembering the bodies of men I had called friends. With their bladed fingers they were peeling the flesh from their bones, draping in over their gaunt bodies as a mockery of clothing. They were trying to consume chuncks of flesh using mouths that did not open, with blood and gore pooling into every recess of their metal bodies. Then one saw me. It's hideous, expressionless face turning to me, it's metal visage smeared with gore, it cocked it's head ever so slightly before leaping forward... and disapearing.
I know it's out there now, waiting for me, hunting for me.
***static***
I can hear them! They're here! Oh, Emperor forfend, THEY ARE HERE!!! EMPERO...AAAH!!
***transmission ends***
***record sealed by Inquisitorial Command***

I enjoyed that a lot... Necrons are faceless automatons at first glance and yet, especially with the new background material, they have so much horrifying personality. The dread in private Jerthus' voice was conveyed very well. Good job there.

As for the first piece, it was very eloquent and enjoyable to read. You say English is not your native language... in that case the level of sophistication and skill with which you write is even more commendable. I'd enjoy reading more as Sebekhetep comes to terms with his new evolving personality and what he does when he steps out into a galaxy completely unlike the one he knew. First contact with other races will be most fascinating to read.

Now this was a good and interesting read, you managed to make me crave more knowledge about Necrons! And my hat of to you for making a character this interesting.

Thank you both for your kind words, they are much appreciated. I'm definitely planning to do some pieces regarding his views on other races, should he find any .

I've also managed to write a bit more. It's placed a few days later, after the necrons have activated their vanguard and are striking at the imperial forces now stationed on what they see as their world.

The Assault

The warriors advanced in near-perfect unison across the broken ground, marred only by small jerks and apparent misfires in their steel limbs. One of the metallic forms strode into a clutch of barbed wire, pulling the girder and the wire itself along, unharmed. Another was blanketed by small-arms fire, jerked twice, but kept moving. After a set number of steps, the gleaming soldiers swung their weapons to bear. A sound like ripping cloth was heard, and a lurid greenish light erupted from their synchronized barrels, washing over the trench before them.
The trench was filled with grime-encrusted soldiers, emptying their weapons at the metal warriors in blind panic.
The light from the weapons impacted one of the men in the trench. There was a flash of actinic light as the man’s outline became hazy and nearly translucent. His comrades heard a shriek that turned into a liquid gurgle as he fell to the ground, his boiled flesh stripped of skin and slouching off his disintegrating bones.
It was over in seconds. The metal forms marched on, crushing the twitching remains of the soldiers beneath them.

A slow building hum could be heard of the discharge of energy weapons, the bangs of solid ammunition and the screams of men and women fighting for their lives. A shape slowly drifted through the mists and cordite-smoke, hovering several meters from the barren ground. It seemed lithe, almost fragile. Two sickle-shaped slices of metal, one horizontal, one vertical, encapsulating a disc that ended in a curved prow, more in place on an ancient sailing vessel then a repulsor-field driven grav-tank. Left and right of the prow two shapes hung limply, their metal heads studded with cables and interface tunnels slaving them into the vehicle, amplifying it’s processing power greatly.
Upon the disc stood a singular figure, surrounded by view screens, tactical outlays and holographic maps projected on a console that stood between it and the two pilot-forms. It’s hands danced over the interface, calling up different views and long lists of glowing green runes.
His hand waved over one projected map, moving several scythe-shaped green icons across the field towards two red blips. Miles away, a division of fighter craft covered in green runes instantly banked to a new heading to engage two heavy bulk carriers filled with enemy troops heading to the front.
Each hand movement on the maps was followed instantly by the metallic warriors marching across the fields, the war engines supporting them and the atmospheric craft covering their advance.

A gust of wind cleared some of the air, granting Sebekhetep a first-hand view of the battlefield for the first time since the campaign’s start. A dull grey city rose in the distance, gargoyle encrusted hab-blocks rising miles-high into the atmosphere. From time to time the entire city lit up with a blue glow, showing the outline of the void-shield protecting the inner spires. Countless small flashes lit up the city’s base, like tiny twinkling stars. Some were bright white, yellow or red; tracer-rounds, lasbolts and solid-slug ammunition fired by the defenders. Other flashes were a deep emerald colour or a pale, sickly light green; discharges from Sebekhetep’s own troops, the telltale signs of gauss beams and tesla fire.
There was a bright flash as one of the attacking vehicles fired its main weapon directly at the city. The massive green lance of energy slammed into the forcefield, the energies annihilating each other in an enormous discharge. Jagged bolts earthed themselves over hundreds of yards, burning men and destroying vehicles too close to the impact. The strained shield shimmered and shattered with an ear-splitting sound. Secondary explosions tore through several generators placed at the city’s limits.
Even though the cataclysmic explosion seemed no larger than a pinprick to Sebekhetep, it’s tactical significance was not lost on him. He ordered his warriors to advance, assured the primitive city would fall before this world’s sun had set. The first step in the reclamation of the surface had been taken.

It's been a while since I updated, but the muse has been kind and I'm working on more necron fiction. This is a followup on the very first part, giving more insight into Sebek as a character. The parts in italic are his memories of before biotransferrance.

Dust to Dust

Sebekhetep’s feet never touched the ground as he moved through the hallways, the repulsor field keeping him afloat and moving, billowing his robes and gusting thousands of years of dust away from his body. The route he followed was hard-wired into his brain, a path he had first walked when the universe was much younger, long before his mind was transferred into his current body. Millions of revolutions of this world ago, the man that once called himself Sebekhetep had moved through this corridor for the first time.

He strode through the halls, accompanied by the clanking noise of his four bodyguards’ armour. The lychguards’ shields produced a barely audible hum, just on the edge of hearing. The corridor was lavishly decorated, bands of artfully crafted inscriptions and images running along the walls, interspersed with animated hard-light scenes projected on pedestals. Some holograms depicted battles, with triumphant ancestors standing over vanquished foes, other images were of a more peaceful nature, showing portraits of phaerons of dynasties past, craftsmen at work or vistas of worlds both near and far.
Sebekhetep had no time for any of these priceless pictures, his mind racing with worry, concentrating mainly on not showing any of it on his gaunt face. To show his emotions to anyone of lower class, even his sworn bodyguards, would constitute a loss of face, a humiliation not just of himself, but of his entire dynasty. He knew he was actually failing at this point, tears staining his face, and was beyond caring. His guards would rather cut their own throats than stain his honour by speaking of this to anyone, but this mattered not to him.
He quickened his pace as he drew closer. As he approached, the door slid open soundlessly, an unpleasant odour filled his nostrils. Antiseptics and blood, an acrid combination that immediately made his worst fears come to the fore of his mind. He ran the last steps to the cask, almost shoving the elderly man standing next to it aside.
The woman lying in the cask was much paler. He clasped her hand and squeezed softly. Her eyes fluttered open and a sad smile crossed her lips.
“She was beautiful, husband of mine. She was beautiful.”
“I know.”
“I held her, if only for a while.”
“I know.”
“She... she passed, husband of mine.”
He closed his eyes. He had feared she had passed as well, but whatever relief he might have felt at her survival was overshadowed by grief. Their firstborn, their daughter, was dead.

He moved past the darkened metal walls. Once this corridor was filled with colour and sound, with the sounds of an entire palace working and living. Now it was silent, a nigh monochrome shadow of it’s former self. The only sound that could be heard was the whine of his anti-grav field and the metallic clicking of his fingers.
He partitioned a part of his mind to deal with the incoming signals regarding the awakening of the tombworld while his conscious mind dwelled on his memories. Theoretically, the amount of processing power required to re-file the information he had gathered before his mind was transferred into his current body should only be minimal. It should only be a sliver of the sum of his current neural net, a minor directory to be accessed only when needed. But somehow it had taken a far larger place in his mental priority lists, and the memories currently kept a large part of his active partition locked down, looping his thoughts in predictable routes.

“Her Highness hasn’t left the room in months, Exalted One, and I fear for her mental health. The recent experiences were traumatic, but it would speed her recovery if she were to once again move beyond the chambers she now resides in. I implore you, Exalted One, please take action.”
Sebekhetep stared at the elderly man supplicated before him. All he could see was the top of the man’s head and the elaborate black robes that were spread out on the ground behind him. The hems of the robe were embroidered with glowing green symbols that writhed and moved as the phaeron gazed at them. They spelled out benedictions for the sick, litanies of healing and mantras designed to purify the air around the cloth.
Sebekhetek stood up from his throne, drawing up to his full length.
“Stand, cryptek. What would you have me do? Order my wife to leave her assumed chambers? Have her dragged out by the guards? Would you add humiliation to her pain? Would that aid her speedy recovery, Emhoth? Is this a new treatment plan developed by your magistrakh colleagues?! I am no healer, but I refuse to believe this would aid my love!”
“I... Exalted One, I dare.. would never dare suggest such a thing.”, the cryptek sputtered, standing up as well.
“You name me a liar then, cryptek?”
“No, Exalted One.”, Emhoth replied “But I have done all I can. She is beyond my arts in what is allowed. I can numb her pain by repathing her neural cortex, but that would change her. I could rip the thoughts from her brain and leave her a mental blank! I could do so many things, and none will restore her to the way she was! I cannot do it!”
Phaeron and cryptek stared at each other. The rest of the court was silent, aghast at this breach of protocol. Few would dare raise their eyes at someone of Sebekhetep’s stature, or even raise his or her voice, let alone get into a shouting match with the phaeron.
With an audible sigh, Sebekhetep sat down again, one hand on the bridge of his nose and his eyes closed. “I thank you for your loyal service, cryptek. You are excused.”
Emhoth opened his mouth but seemed to reconsider. He bowed and strode from the audience chamber without a word.

The door opened without a sound, millions of years having past without anything troubling it. The room was largely unchanged except the standing stasis cask replacing the medi-cask that used to dominate the room. He hovered slowly towards the cask, his feet finally touching ground with a resounding clank as he took the last step.
There were no controls lit up on the cask, no status screen active. Touching one of the monitors, a small light blinked to active, displaying that this terminal had been on standby for several millennia.
Sebekhetep used his overrides to open the cask immediately. As the layers began to unfold, he added his strength to the process, bending away parts of the construction to open the cask faster. When the groaning metal resisted his hands, he activated a weapon and began cutting at the opening doors. With a crack, he ripped the last layer off the cask, tossing the twisted metal frame to the side.
He gingerly reached inside. An ornately crafted necron body lay within, it’s body covered in golden filigree, it’s gaunt head topped with an elaborate crown. It’s shoulders were draped with a bronze usekh collar covered in black and green gemstones, each glowing with an inner light. The body was posed awkwardly, slumped to the side, the shoulder wedged into the cask wall, the head resting on the chest piece, the hands hanging loosely and the knees bent, slack. Sebekhetep slowly lifted the body’s head, gazing at the darkened skull. No light shone from the eyes.
His wife, his queen, his Leatra, had passed.

You have done what I neevr thougth possible, you actualy managed to portray Necrons in a way that shows that once upon a time, they where beings that loved, cared and mourned. Well done, very well done!

i done think i have ever read better necron fiction.

That was amazing!

Thanks for all your kind words, it's a great feeling to hear others actually enjoy my words.

@Darkvoidof40k: Well, two more stories are taking shape in my mind, regarding the relations between Sebekhetep's dynasty and the orks and the tau, respectively. I hope you'll enjoy them when the stories finally see the light of day.

@Trondheim: You've figured me out. ^^ In my mind the necrontyr were once a passionate, living race and it's a gratifying process to bring some of this life back and seeing what it does to the necrons.

@the shrouded lord: Thanks a lot, though I have to admit that I have picked a bit of a niche with the necrons.

@DerT84: Thank you!

Another snippet, this time a continuation of a point in the first story; what happened to the servo skull?

A cascade of sparks fell from the cables as Emhoth the Black ripped several away to access the circuitry underneath. Even though his body was no different from the legions of necron warriors stored elsewhere on the tombworld, Emhoth somehow seemed smaller. His gait was shuffling, his shoulders hunched and his back bowed ever so slightly, the ancient mind uploaded into the body warping its posture by very force of will. While the adjustments to his body were minor, the frayed cloak and significantly more detailed faceplate did set him apart from most necrons. Where most warriors sported an identical grim death mask, Emhoth’s face seemed different. Only a single optical sensor was set in his brow, its large surface curved and bulbous, humming and whirring with the sounds of countless lenses jockeying for position within. Additionally, his stylised mouth seemed set in a unchanging mocking grin, one edge of the mouth permanently upturned.
The small device in Emhoth’s hand was crude, a cybernetic construct built up from a disembodied skull, with imaging machinery and a crude anti-gravity drive attached. He restructured several dataports on his right hand, merging his last two fingers into a dataspike which he gently inserted into one of the ports he just uncovered. His head twitched a few times as he broke through the basic encryption protocols programmed into the device, breaching it’s data stores and downloading all the information on it. It’s defences were less then pitiful, a decimal based access code and a minor firewall.
Emhoth lifted the skull, gazing into the pits of its sockets. The green light from his sensors reflected in the imbedded lens on the right side of the skull. A tingling sensation drew his attention to his olfactory senses. There was a curious smell emanating from the skull. He quickly analyzed the chemical compounds, finding a mixture of chemical oils with several non-effective parts added. It seemed these had no other use but to spread a specific odour. There was also a hint of combusted material, soot deposits left in several recesses on the skull that implied the burning of vegetative materials close to it. Had this device been close to a natural fire? Emhoth considered the concept for a microsecond before dismissing it out of hand. There were no natural forests or any other form of vegetation left on this world. This would imply the addition of the soot was a conscious choice, which would make even less sense. Unless…
Emhoth chuckled as he replayed a pict-log. In it he saw a chanting, robed figure approach the skull with a censer billowing smoke. The figure took great pains applying the smoke to the entirety of the skull, wafting it even over the, now exposed, internal circuitry.
“Barbarians… utter barbarians. Worshippers of their own crude technology”, he muttered to himself. “Is this what the universe has come to in our absence? Savages squatting in the ruins of greatness? Lesser species grasping for understanding and finding none?”
Emhoth had seen enough. He tossed the skull aside while considering his next step. As he was absorbed in his thoughts, the air behind him shimmered as a trio of large shapes began to take form. They towered over him, their skin made of the same material as his, but their form very much different. There was nothing humanoid about them, their long sinuous bodies studded with at least eight pairs of limbs, the front of which were equipped with long whip-like fronds of gleaming metal. In lieu of a head they had a flat triangular metal plate studded with a number of optical lenses, giving them a distinctly insect-like look. After materialising they held still, seemingly awaiting something.
“Only three? The rest of you must still be on their pre-programmed rounds then, eh? No matter. Go to the surface, fetch me some research materials” Emhoth commanded. He could have sent a simple interstitial command to the trio of wraith that would have taken only a microsecond, but somehow verbalising his commands felt more.. ‘real’.
As the wraiths dashed off into the corridor and phased through the closest wall on their way to the surface, Emhoth chuckled again.
“Perhaps I am going mad. Perhaps I’ll have to dissect my own brain to study my own psychosis. What delicious irony that would be, to be the subject of my own studies into this topic.”
Still snorting out muted laughter, Emhoth turned to his benches, filled with half-finished project, dataslates on arcane subjects and weapons of horrifying power. Yes, the work was never truly finished…

Staying in my previous vein of several smaller stories; a small piece on the avarage necron warrior 's awakening. I always found the new fluff around them quite terrifying, trapped in their own bodies and used as expendable tools for millions of years of warfare.


Download

There was a slight delay while the transfer was taking place. Billions of information packages were downloaded directly into the pathways of the networked database. Shunting programs and domain controllers routed the packages into the correct locations and partitions. Activation systems, mobility protocols, sensory input processing software. Each was downloaded in turn, tested, integrated, activated. Synthetic pathways were reconstructed, protocols were re-established and response-chains were programmed into the autonomous system. Lastly, a small kernel was disconnected from the main system, partitioned, and the remaining memory engrams and personality subroutines placed directly into this isolated pocket. For a virtual eternity, these protocols attempted to connect to the main system, trying to integrate themselves with the main operating system but failing, blocked by neural firewalls.

With a green flash the sensory processors were activated, and a solid clank sounded as he stepped out of the cask, clutching his gauss flayer close to his body. The action was repeated thousands of times in close proximity. The tombworld was waking up.

Now this was good I have to say. The part about his wife was especially good, as was the attack on theImperial hive with it's insight into the coordination of crons on a battlefield. In short, this was all good stuff, well done.