He dreamed of death. He dreamed of a perfect universe. He dreamed of his legions marching through civilisations. It was the same dream. The perfect universe was one devoid of life. Inevitability was perfection, and death was inevitable. It gnawed on his mind for aeons, filling him with a new hate for all things living. Then it happened. A break in his dream. A hand reached out for him. He took it, and was pulled from his sleep.

Canarak awoke. He opened his lidless eyes, and cast his eyes around the catacomb he was in. Several other similar sarcophagi were positioned around him, the majority of them, still sealed. The Ankh on the mantle of most of were dim, including on the more extravagant one. The Cryptek stood by Canarak.
“You have been asleep for several hundred millennia, you should r-“He was stopped midsentence, Canarak’s hand grasped its throat and pulled upwards, ripping the Cryptek’s head from its shoulders. Canarak turned to walked towards his Overlords sarcophagus. He reached out and touched where his Phaerons head would’ve been.
“The Phaeron did not survive the Great Sleep. There was a malfunction, and the majority of the royal court did not survive.” Canarak turned to see the Cryptek he decapitated reassembling itself. “I am Jarvis, one of few surviving Cryptek of our once great dynasty, and I would appreciate if you did not try to kill me.”
“Jar-vis? Phae-ron...?” Canarak racked his memory banks, and found them both.
[Jarvis][Architech and siege master of the Autal’ka Dynasty]
[Phaeron Autal’ka][Accessing…Accessing…Memory bank incomplete.]
“Jarvis. Architech. Where are the other Lords?” Canarak asked the Cryptek
“Telas is waiting in the memory halls with Gikleor. Vazk’il is awakening as we speak. The rest cannot be awoken, the Great Sleep was long, and the revival tubes in their sarcophagi have been damaged, including the one paired with Phaeron Autal’ka.” The Crypteks voice was heavy, perhaps even sad. Weak. They were all weak.
“Fate has decreed that only the strong survive. The fact that we live and they do not reinforces that claim. Assemble the War Council. We shall speak.” Canarak felt his memory flow back into him with speed. He was almost back to normal.

Four Praetorians stood guard in the war room for aeons whilst their brethren slept. Each one would uphold its previous Phaerons last request, being to make sure the revival of the legion went well. Each lord arrived with his own retinue of Lychguard. They would speak of what they would do in the near future, and, more importantly, who the new Phaeron would be. Canarak entered the room to be greeted with the rest of his brethren sitting at the circular table in the centre of the room.
“Greetings Canarak, it seems the Sleep was gentle on you, if only I could say the same for the rest of the Court…”Gikleor spoke out and rose to greet Canarak.
“They were weak, they did not deserve a second chance.” Canarak spat at Gikleor, and moved past him.
“Are you alright? Perhaps I was wrong about the effects of the Sleep on you…” Gikleor was taken aback by his fellow lords’ outburst, but moved and re-joined the rest at the table. Vazk’il nodded at Canarak and rose.
“We have much to discuss, the losses of our once great legion number in the 50%. We will have to do much to begin assembly and other tasks, but one stands out far more. Who shall arise to be new Phaeron?” He knew the answer. Each lord wanted it, and, more than likely, only one lord would walk out of the room. The question made each lord in turn grasp their weapons tighter. All except Canarak, who kept his Warscythe firmly planted on the ground at all times.
“We all know how this will turn out Vazk’il. We fight to the death, the winner takes all.” Telas exclaimed and rose. The other two lords rose and held out their weapons. Funny, Canarak thought. They’re all the same height.
“If we can be civil, there will be no need for pointless slaughter…” Gikleor was always the more diplomatic of the Court. Weak.
“No.” Canarak swung his Scythe around the table. “There will always be need for pointless slaughter.” He spoke as three heads fell onto the table. The Lychguard stood were they had been the entire time, almost shocked at what happened. They showed pointless emotion. Weak. “Kill them.” Canarak spoke to his own Lychguard, who he had spoken to before the meeting. Each one saw the true purpose eventually. Each one was reprogrammed with only one true thought. Death. His Lychguard tore into the others, each one killing with increased speed and the only true emotions. Hate. Anger. Rage. The fight was short, as the weak Lychguard were not prepared for such actions so quickly. As the last Lychguard fell, Canarak turned to face his nearest minion.
“Fetch me the Crypteks. I have a new job for them.”

Canarak stood with his arms extended sidewards.
Phase One.
Each shoulder had additional pieces of armour plating, his chest had been reinforced, his arms strengthened. All the better to murder.
Phase Two.
A construct Canarak didn’t care to look at lifted his off the ground. With precise cuts, it severed his legs from his body. He felt nothing. Whilst dangling off the machine, he lifted his new arm. It was stronger than the previous one. He looked over his arm, it was about two times thicker than the previous one, able to shrug off the hardest blow. Then his gaze fell to his chest. Reinforced three times over, nothing short of the most determined attacker could pierce it. He was interrupted by new cables attaching to his torso. He looked down and saw something that would’ve made him smile. The blood red suspensor platform gleamed in the artificial light. He felt it join with him. And he tested it. He moved thrummed on the spot. He heard the soft vibrations it was causing. He would be a monster on the battlefield. He was faster now than he ever was.
“Let me go.” He spoke to nobody in particular, but the Cryptek responded. The construct holding Canarak let go and went back to whatever menial tasks the Cryptek assigned. Canarak floated on the spot, flexing his hands. He called Jarvis to him.
“Are the rest of the tasks completed?” He turned his head to face Jarvis, unknowingly shifting the rest of his body.
“Yes Lord, your Lychguard have been successfully interred. We are currently rehabilitating the rest of the legion, as you ordered. As is the other project.” Jarvis bowed his head. “The mechanics will soon align to your thoughts, just give it some time.” Jarvis turned, but was stopped by Canaraks heavy hand.
“I prefer the word ‘Perfection’. You are perfecting our Legion.”
“Yes Phaeron.” He let go of the Cryptek and began to make his way to the rest of his new War Council.

Hurak, Visgon, Xerxes and Khronos waited in the War Room, along with three other Destroyers. The three sported an assortment of Weapons, each one different from the other. The other four once-Lychguard held a combination of weapons. Visgon held her twin voidblades. She was happy. The Sleep had deprived her of what she cherished most, killing. On awakening, she ordered a scan of the stars, to indicate how long they had been asleep. The result both surprised her, and pleased her. Tens of millions of years, new civilisations had sprung up in the ashes of the old era. All the better. They would kill them nevertheless. Khronos had his hyperphase sword sheathed at his side, and was looking over his new gauntlet. He would bathe the living in fire, and revel in their ashes. He had already scanned the nearby sector, and found the point of most commotion. A small world whose name had been long forgotten. New races fought over it, each seeking wealth, and other pointless reasons to fight each other. He recognised the signatures of Eldar there. Good. He had a score to settle. Xerxes rested on his staff, intent on taking a chrono-sleep to regain some lost memory. Hurak carved sigils onto the bare parts of his new body with his sword, each one preaching the purity of Death. Canarak looked over his four Lieutenants. They would each command a cult. He commanded them to kill something, they would decide how they killed it. Simple. Effective. His gaze fell upon the three cloaked figures, and he made his way towards them. All traces of their former selves had been erased from their bodies, their minds wiped, and inhibitor chips inserted into their skulls. His lifted the hood over the first one, who held its sword idly at its side.
“You are my Hand. You shall be the extension of my will.”
He lifted the hood off the second one, who held its staff in two hands.
“You shall be my Eyes. You shall find me targets so that unleash my Legions.”
He lifted the hood off the third figure, who also held its staff in two hands.
“And you, shall be my Envoy. Go to the planet. Broadcast my arrival. I wish the living to know that Death is coming.”
And so, the three previous lords of the Autal’ka dynasty were reborn again as slaves to the lord of the new Canarak Dynasty.

The core-ships stirred once more.