Dust lay in every crevice and cranny in the royal chamber. Ornate hangings and curtains rested forgotten on the floor, relics of an era long since passed. The stench of decay and sheer age might have been distracting for a mortal if one walked amongst these ancient halls, but not for the owner of the balefire eyes that stood before the alien throne. Overlord Szokeht of the Fringeworlds stared fixedly at his Phaeron, hatred emanating from him as he addressed the Royal Court and brandished his Staff of Light, slamming its pommel into the ground to punctuate his metallic speech.
“This campaign is a farce! There is no foreseeable outcome to this venture that will benefit our race, nor even our dynasty! My astromancers have calculated that the only outcome will be that the “humans” will declare war upon our mighty dynasty! Why do you insist on pursuing this illogical course of action?” Behind him, Szokeht’s own Court murmured their assent, fearful of the Phaeron’s wrath but still loyal to their Overlord.
Setekh the Eternal, Phaeron of the Kopakh Dynasty, sat silent upon his throne, gripping the rests instinctively in his fury. Lord Gatokh, Chamberlain of the Royal Court, addressed the upstart Overlord coldly, speaking on behalf of his master. “You think then that we should retreat? Have you forgotten the ancient Codes of Honour, Szokeht?” Szokeht’s eyes blazed with unbridled anger and he clenched his fist of metal. “How DARE you address me so informally, chamberlain! Forget thee that you are but a Lord, a Vymark?”

“I forget nothing, oh powerful Overlord,” Gatokh intoned, voice dripping with sarcasm as he bowed, attempting to make the gesture as insulting as he could manage. “But as far as Phaeron Setekh is concerned you have lost your claim to such honorifics with this outburst.” Szokeht looked straight at Setekh, balefire eyes aflame and furious. “You are right, Chamberlain, I should no longer be Overlord of the Fringeworlds. My Lord, I declare that you are unfit to lead our Dynasty.” An almost binaric static burst from the Court of Safhket, some starting towards the Besan Royal court. Szokeht smiled inwardly as his plan came to fruition, and his court too drew staves and began to subtly weave arcane magicks in defence of their Overlord.

“Enough.” The Necrontyr stopped and stared at the throne, now empty. Phaeron Setekh stood upon the raised dais, his Warscythe in hand and cold wrath radiating from his powerful frame. “A claim has been made, and it shall be settled. By standing against me you set you and your worlds against my Dynasty, and so invoke the Codes of Honour. According to the Rite of Lotak, I challenge you to honourable battle, Szokeht. Do you accept?” Overlord Szokeht knelt and held his staff before him, pommel to the stone. “I do accept. When you are slain, your revivification shall be denied to you, and you will never think again. I will take command of the Kopakh Dynasty and the command structures will be transferred to me.”

“And when I destroy you, you shall pay the same price. We are agreed.” Setekh knelt as well, touching the blade of his Warscythe with Szokeht’s Staff of Light, his resplendent cloak falling about him.

“According to the Rite of Lotak, battle shall be done,” spoke a voice from the shadows. Cryptek Adrokh of the Infinite Cataclysm strode into the light, his unfathomable instruments of techno-sorcery displayed upon his form for all to see, and to fear. “I shall oversee the denial of revivification and possible transference of the command hierarchy myself.” He raised his Eldritch Lance before him as the two combatants stood apart – then brought it down upon the floor, the stone cracking with the strength of the movement.

At the sound, Szokeht made probability calculations in nanoseconds and ducked the first swing of the Phaeron’s Warscythe, intended to bite into his neck, and fed power into the haft of his weapon, loosing searing energy into the body of his Overlord. Snarling, Setekh’s Sempiternal Weave dissipated the lethal bolt, the phase-hardened filaments threaded through his chest saving him from the damage. Not to be outdone, the resilient Phaeron slashed downwards with his battle-stave, the heavy energy-blade cutting deep into Szokeht’s torso. A harsh scream of machine-noise came from the wounded android as damage report after damage report was recorded by his mechanical body. He swung his own weapon at the Phaeron, roaring in frustration as Setekh used the haft of his Warscythe to deflect the staff’s strike. As the stave spun in his hand, Szokeht turned and fired another two bursts of light from his ancient weapon, but Setekh flickered into a phased state, out of sync with the universe, and the shots passed through him and scorched the wall behind him.

Szokeht looked around for the Phaeron, seeing nothing, but then Setekh reappeared, bringing his Warscythe down again on his adversary. The wicked blade sliced through the Overlord like butter, and a moment later his arm clattered to the ground. Backpedalling, Szokeht loosed another two bolts of energy at the Phaeron as the living metal of his arm flowed upwards to meet with his shoulder, the limb re-joining seamlessly with his body. Spinning his battle-staff in his hand, esoteric servo-motors whirring with the speed, Setekh turned the shots aside and leapt forward, using powerful mechanical legs to cross the distance, and hacked down into Szokeht’s metal skull, splitting the Overlord’s cranium and destroying vital systems. The light of immortal life was still aflame in Szokeht’s eyes, and his ruined body began to knit back together until Setekh planted his heavy foot upon his opponent’s chest and drove his energy-blade into Szokeht’s neck, damaging him irrevocably. Viridian light flickered and flashed around the mechanoid’s carcass, the sign of the teleport beam about to return him to his revivification chamber, but with a pass of his hand and a mental command, Adrokh banished the emerald sparks and the fallen Overlord lay still.

Setekh looked with grim satisfaction at the body and then stalked back to his throne. Adrokh issued a directive silently and from tiny vents in the wall of the chamber, Canoptek Scarabs flooded to the skeletal remains, falling upon it and consuming the metal before returning to the holes they entered from, leaving only the crown of office from Szokeht’s head. The plasmancer wordlessly picked up the golden horns and presented them to both Royal Courts.

“According to the Rite of Lotak, Szokeht is defeated and the claim put to rest. My Lord, you must name his successor.”

“Gatokh. You shall take his place as Overlord of the Fringeworlds. Go to the revivification chamber to receive the symbols of office. Szokeht’s royal court is now yours to command as you see fit, and you shall be Regent of Bes. Lord Kortal,” At his name, the Safhketian Vymark walked to stand before Setekh and bowed deeply before the Phaeron. “Yes, master?”
“You shall take Gatokh’s place as Chamberlain.” The newly exalted courtier bowed even lower than before. “I obey.”