Before coming here, Rhodes had already worked out a detailed plan with AsanethAyu to thoroughly provoke and break the composure of the Necron Overlord, Trazyn!

"Trazyn the infinite, noble Necron Overlord! How nostalgic! You Necrons have already forgotten the glory of the Necrontyr," AsanethAyu sneered.

"You know me? How did you come to this world? Who created you?" Trazyn asked.

He valued this living kin—one who still possessed a body—not to add them to his collection, but because they represented hope for their race.

The Necrons: their current bodies may be immortal, but are they still themselves? Their souls were long ago devoured by the C'tan.

"My name is AsanethAyu. I was once a minor Chronomancer in an unremarkable dynasty. Thanks to Lord Rhodes's help, I regained my body and truly escaped that eternal, horrifying curse," AsanethAyu explained.

"You—you mean to say this is possible? That's impossible! Humans could never… Humans can't possibly restore a Necron to flesh. That's absolutely impossible." Trazyn was visibly shaken.

His thought-core fell into unprecedented chaos.

His electronic neurons blinked frantically, searching for a thread of logic in this unbelievable reality. But no matter how he calculated or analyzed, the facts before him stabbed deep into his cold mechanical heart like a sharp blade.

"This… can't be… absolutely impossible…" Trazyn's voice trembled, almost muttering to himself.

His optics locked onto AsanethAyu, searching for any flaw or tell.

But what he saw was a living, soulful Necrontyr—a being he thought could never exist again.

But how? Their souls were devoured by the C'tan long ago! It should be impossible to restore them!

"You can't possibly have a soul! If you said you were a clone, I could accept that, but how can you be the real AsanethAyu?" The Necron Overlord Trazyn spoke, agitated.

"Nothing is impossible! Trazyn, I'm standing right in front of you. Do I look like a soulless shell?" AsanethAyu sneered.

Toying with such a powerful Necron Overlord was truly entertaining. Since regaining a real body, he no longer recognized these Necrons as kin.

"You… you really have your soul again?"

Trazyn's voice was tinged with undisguised longing and jealousy. His thought-core traced back through memories—of the Necrontyr' glory, their flesh, their souls and emotions.

He too had once been a Necrontyr, a being of flesh and spirit.

But the C'tan's trickery and curse had turned them into cold machines, their souls devoured, their glory forgotten. Many of his kin had become nothing but machines.

"Trazyn, what are you still doubting?" Rhodes's voice suddenly sounded, mocking and amused.

He walked to AsanethAyu's side, his gaze piercing as he looked at Trazyn. "What you see is what you desire most—a living, soulful Necrontyr. She is my subordinate, and I gave her all this."

Trazyn's thought-core jolted, as if struck by lightning. His optics shifted to Rhodes, flickering with complex emotions—anger, jealousy, longing, despair—all swirling in his mechanical heart, forming a chaotic tide of data that even pressed on his core.

No Necron could remain calm in the face of this.

"How… How did you achieve this?" Trazyn's voice quavered, barely suppressing his inner turmoil. "How could a human possess such technology? It's… it's impossible!"

"Impossible?" Rhodes sneered, full of disdain. "Trazyn, you're too arrogant.

You think Necron technology is the pinnacle of the universe? You think what you can't do, no one else can? Ridiculous."

Trazyn's mechanical body trembled under the pressure. His thought-core raced, searching for a rebuttal, but found none. AsanethAyu's existence was a hammer shattering his arrogance.

"How did you obtain such technology? Tell me—I'm willing to trade all my collections, anything you want, just name it." The Trazyn the infinite spoke.

Resurrection!

More precious than all his collections—Orks, other Necron lords, Primarch clones, Dark Eldar warriors, ancient Krork, even treasures no human could refuse.

"And that's not all, Trazyn. I've also obtained what all Necrontyr dream of—true immortality." AsanethAyu grew gigantic before Trazyn's eyes.

She transformed into a massive beast, sixty meters tall, exuding an indescribable sense of oppression—a true evolution, an elevation of life.

At this moment, AsanethAyu was the most perfect of all Necrontyr—without equal.

"See? This is the perfect form, the true power Necrontyr yearn for. As long as I'm not killed, I could live hundreds of thousands of years," AsanethAyu said.

"Rhodes… just tell me, and I'll give you anything. All my collections, anything you want." Trazyn seemed to make a decision, speaking resolutely.

Trazyn's body shook as he endured the pressure. The Necrons had lost too much—souls, glory, even themselves.

All that remained was cold metal and endless emptiness. Now, at last, there was a chance to set things right.

If this human revealed everything, it meant there was room to bargain. Otherwise, there would be no point in showing him all this.

"Everything?"

Rhodes sneered, full of disdain. "Trazyn, do you think you have anything left to offer? Your collections? Your technology? Your power? None of it matters to me.

Because soon, everything you have will be mine. I'm telling you all this just to humiliate you, nothing more."

"AsanethAyu… you really choose to follow him? Have you forgotten our glory? We were once rulers of the galaxy, victors of the War in Heaven." Trazyn turned to his kin.

"Trazyn, don't you get it yet?"

AsanethAyu sneered. "I am no longer your kin. I am no longer cursed by the C'tan.

Now, I have a soul, flesh, real life, even greater perfection—and all of it is a gift from Lord Rhodes."

So-called victors of the War in Heaven—was there ever a true winner? If they had really won, they wouldn't have slumbered for sixty million years, only to wake with digital plagues.

They beat the C'tan and Old Ones, but the Old Ones' creations cornered them.

Trazyn's mechanical body trembled under the weight of it all.

He knew AsanethAyu spoke the truth. She was no longer cursed.

She had regained her soul, her life, even the longevity others dreamed of.

But he remained trapped in cold metal, as did all his kin.

"Rhodes, you cannot kill me, nor take all my collections.

Don't underestimate me. I've roamed the galaxy for sixty million years, looting countless civilizations, even visiting your Earth before humanity left the stone age, teaching your ancestors how to build pyramids.

It's not that simple. This body, this tomb world—they're just avatars. I have more than one museum.

I can detonate this core any time. You may escape, but my collections and your subordinates will die. If you want to gamble, come at me!" Trazyn threatened.

Rhodes's expression shifted—black holes weren't to be taken lightly. Necrons could manipulate them.

"If you let me go, I'll give you all my human-related collections.

There's one thing you won't be able to refuse—a true Primarch, not a clone." Trazyn offered.