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Dormant

We Necrontyr were once such a mighty race. Our civilisation spanned the stars, reaching across the galaxy with our unparalleled technology. The Old Ones, our ancient adversaries, were devastated. We subjugated the other, inferior civilisations and controlled them, using their life force to sate the hunger of our Gods. But our Gods were not kind, but cruel. As cruel as we were. As cruel as we are.

The star-vampires were drawn into the shells that our species crafted for them. They led we Necrontyr into battle against the arrogant Old Ones and we won. But then we were lied to. Then we were tricked. Our race was doomed to short and agonising lives and what they offered seemed to be our ultimate dream. To live for all time, without the pain that we suffered, without the frailties of life. But it came at a price, an unimaginable penalty for this boon. Our proud empire was enslaved in metal, bent to the will of our star-gods, our C’Tan. Our emotions were stripped away, our free will erased. We were immortal, to spend eternity at the beck and call of the Masters.

I was High Lord Setekh, the Annihilator. I was tasked with the eradication of entire species to make examples of them. When my body was consumed and my mind reduced to circuitry and algorithms, all my emotions fell away save one: My hatred of life. The Old Ones were our enemies because they had so much time to live. We envied that, and despised all living creatures other than ourselves. My enmity of the living remained, and my mission was unchanged. I led great harvests across the stars, destroying all life at the whim of my Masters. I marched at the helm of the legions of the undead, I cut the leaders of the crop-species from shoulder to hip with mighty swings of my staff, and their whole miserable nations cowered before me. When the time of sleep came, I retired to my stasis-tomb with the fires of abhorrence still burning within my metal carapace, relishing the thought that one day I would kill again. One day my Masters would feast again, like carrion on the living of the universe.

But now my circuits grow dull, and time erodes my consciousness. Untold aeons have passed, but still the call to rise again has not come. But I will do my duty. I will awaken when called, and the galaxy shall run with the lifeblood of my prey. I have retained my sanity, at least. The Flayer disease has not taken me, and I shall not mutilate my form like some of my brethren, those who have lost all thought save the desire to kill, to destroy, to purge.

Our number is legion, and our name is death. But for now, we sleep. The House of Setekh will wait. For now, I am dormant.