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magistralucis · 5 months

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Conflict in Literature + Necron Books

(Read more for titles and notes, watch out for spoilers)

Man vs. Nature - Devourer This is not the only necron vs. tyranid lit, but I thought the cover illustrated the conflict best. Out of all the horribad things in WH40K, the tyranids tend to be presented as the closest faction to a natural disaster; certainly in Devourer they do not logically justify their presence, nor can they be reasoned with, not by the Blood Angels or Anrakyr or the Tomb World he's trying to wake. Not mindless, but an amoral happenstance, like nature itself.

Man vs. Society - The Lords of Borsis Necron court intrigue played straight, with a sprinkle of delusion on the side. Since this story revolves entirely around the schemings and plottings of necron(tyr) society, with changes in dynastic hierarchy as the final objective, it fits best here.

Man vs. Technology - Indomitus This is an awkward placement, since Indomitus was not, well... a compelling story, with most of its tropes not being explored beyond their first introduction. But it is the most bare-bones way of describing this book's premise. Humans battling a robotic malignancy, albeit with a Bolivian Army Ending, which doesn't conclude the plot in either direction 😞

Man vs. Man - The Twice-Dead King: Ruin Ruin is an exceptionally deep novel, and fits every conflict listed here. It was the hardest one to place, because it's not so much choosing the one that goes best, rather crossing off every other conflict not central to the story. Both gods and the absence-of-gods are a problem in Ruin, as well as nature and technology, but they're not at the heart of Oltyx's problem. Society could be a big one, since Oltyx is an exile - but he’s not trying to antagonize his society throughout Ruin, he's trying to work with it, or at least save it from doom. Self and reality both count, but fit better with other stories in the Nate Crowley corpus. So man vs. man it is. His most important clashes are all with individuals ('man') - Djoseras, Unnas, Hemiun, arguably Yenekh in reserve - and by the end, his crownworld is overrun by the Imperium, who will become the antagonists for the second part of his tale. Man vs. 'Man', with a capital M.

Man vs. Self - The Twice-Dead King: Reign Again, this could have gone elsewhere. In man vs. reality, perhaps, or the god-related ones. But the self is where the conflict of Reign truly lies, since Oltyx's greatest obstacle is himself, and it is his inability to accept that which brings his dynasty close to destruction. Thank goodness he got over that one.

Man vs. Reality - Severed The emotional and philosophical core of this novella relies on it. Zahndrekh's inability to see the world as it is brings about the whole plot, and is at the centre of all of Obyron's musings. Interestingly, reality does not win at the end, at least not what necrons envision reality to be: a place of cold hard facts, with no room for emotion. Zahndrekh would rather dream the impossible dream, which might be the healthier way to deal with their situation.

Man vs. God - The Infinite and the Divine 🚨 𝔻𝕆 ℕ𝕆𝕋 𝔹𝔼 𝔻𝔼ℂ𝔼𝕀𝕍𝔼𝔻 🚨

Man vs. No God - Crusade: Pariah Nexus Not a novel, not 100% about necrons, not even out yet as of now (Dec 2023). This is an inherently problematic conflict for WH40K, because gods are very real and very present in that universe... here I'm only thinking about the necron perspective, and the civil war unfolding in their lore. They banded together in a shared purpose eons ago, destroying the Old Ones who oppressed them, and sundering the star gods who subjected them to biotransference. Now they are as antigod as they could be, and they did not retain their bonds, they have once again turned on each other. So it goes.

Man vs. Author - Codex: Necrons (10th Ed.) (Collector's Ed.) James Workshop knows what they did. 😑

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ghostinthegallery · 3 months

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can you do "please hold me" for the prompts please?

Here it is! "Please hold me" from this list of prompts. Featuring Zahndrekh/Obyron and a little post-Severed trauma.

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Obyron had endured hundreds of feasts. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands by now. Some in the time of flesh, most in the time of metal when there were no dishes nor full goblets save for in his master’s mind. Obyron hated them, but he had never once fled from the unpleasantness. Until now.

Obyron wished he could slam the door behind him. Instead it slid smoothly back into place, doing nothing to release the violent tide of emotions roiling in his flux. His heart should have been racing, his head swimming, his skin dotted with sweat. There was nothing. His living metal was pristine and he was still. If one were to look at him they might assume he was as mindless as his brethren. He wasn’t. Sometimes he cursed that fact.

Right now he cursed his weakness most of all.

Casual barbs at his expense from Sautekh lords were a reality of his position. The necron nobility had little to do but battle with their armies and battle with their wits, meager as the latter often were. In reality, they simply insulted each other. Their performance in campaigns, their palaces, their possessions…their soldiers.

“That one had a phalanx, didn’t it, Zahndrekh?” The lord had pointed to Obyron then. “Shame you never taught it proper tactics, otherwise it might have held onto them. Or perhaps your example was too poor.”

At that point, Obyron had faced a choice between leaving the feast or beating the noble to death.

He had managed to make his exit somewhat subtle. Found a lychguard to take his position at Zahndrekh’s side, circled the room as if he were simply patrolling. Then he left. This chamber was the first empty one he had found, scrying through the oculars of some nearby scarabs. The Yama had been built in the time of flesh, back when ships needed room to store provisions, beds, and life support. There were many unused sections to slip into. Perhaps this plain, dull silver room had once held necrontyr soldiers. Perhaps they had spoken here, reminisced, laughed, cried, lived.

Obyron pressed his hand against his faceplate to try and drive the thoughts from his head. He could not stop the flood of images of the phalanx he had lost. Sabni, Pentesh, Neb. Dead gods, Neb who had asked to die at his side. Well he had gotten his wish, only Obyron had no idea if Neb had realized it in the end. What little existence they’d clung to had been erased on Doahht. Because of Obyron’s orders. So much had happened on that planet he’d barely had time to think about their loss. Part of him had even been relieved that their suffering was over. But still…they had died. And it had been his fault.

Why? Why had his mind survived when theirs had not? Why was he standing here when they were reduced to nothing? Their bodies not entombed but repurposed to build new chassis for different soldiers? He had been no different from them. Born a soldier, promoted for good service and a stubborn ability to stay alive. Burned away body and soul. What had he done to earn existence while his friends had been condemned to mindless oblivion?

A knock on the door startled him. Damn the dead gods. He had let his circumspection protocols slip in order to fall into this pathetic malaise.

“Obyron?” asked a cautious voice. “Are you in there, old friend?”

“My lord?” Obyron paused. Zahndrekh? He should have been entertaining his guests. “Has something happened?”

“No, no. That feast was just growing interminably dull. Might I…come in?”

Obyron was not sure how to respond. “It is your ship, lord nemesor.”

After a pause the door slid open, revealing Zahndrekh, whose arms were folded. “I was trying to be polite,” he said as he crossed the threshold. “Now, what ever is the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You always were a terrible liar, Obyron.” Zahndrekh let the door close, trapping them together in the low, gauss-green light.

Obyron shifted, grateful that his height let him look over Zahndrekh’s head so their oculars would not meet. “I apologize for leaving. I should not have—”

“None of that.” Zahndrekh held his finger up to what would have been Obyron’s lips. “Please, don’t make me guess. Tell me. What is wrong?”

A flash of despair tinged with anger washed over Obyron’s engrams. Zahndrekh could not possibly understand. He refused to see the horrors of biotransference, so he could not comprehend the weight of what Obyron’s phalanx had lost. Obyron could never tell his lord that they had not simply died. He alone had watched his friends fade into pale imitations of themselves, be dragged across thousands of battles, only to expire. He could not even offer himself that comfort that they were finally at rest because without souls he was not sure if they were.

And then to have that thrown back in his face at a dinner party—

“Obyron!”

Zahndrekh grabbed his hand. Obyron realized he had clenched his fist hard enough to crack his necrodermis. Already it was repairing, but seeing that shook him. He should have had more control. He should not have been this affected.

“I—” he stammered. “I don’t know what—”

”Here, sit with me.”

Gently but firmly, Zahndrekh dragged him down until he was kneeling on the floor. Obyron felt his legs give out from under him, as if the flux had ceased flowing to his motor actuators. Grief and guilt burned his insides like acid.

“I never mourned them,” Obyron gasped. “I brought them to their deaths, yet I never did anything to remember them.”

“Your phalanx?” Zahndrekh shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Obyron. I should never have let that insult slide. It went too far.”

Obyron wished he could say that he did not care. He had no right to care. But those words had hit too close to the truth. He had not known what to do on Doahht without Zahndrekh. And yet he had not been the one to suffer for his incompetence.

“I was the one who failed you then,” Zahndrekh said. “I bear more responsibility for their loss than you.”

That was perhaps true in the strictest sense, although it did little to assuage his guilt. The more he dwelt on it, though, the more he realized it was not simply grief that disturbed him now. Because if he was like them, if they had not been so different…

“Why have I been spared all this time?” he whispered, finally acknowledging something he had not wanted to speak aloud for years. Though his living metal form was more advanced than most soldiers’, even elites, he did not have the enhancements of a lord. “What if I share their fate? What if I fade away?”

He looked into Zahndrekh’s oculars at last, afraid he would find confusion or pity. He saw neither. For a moment he thought he saw understanding, although he could not be sure. There was so much about his nemesor he did not comprehend even after all this time.

“My dear vargard,” Zahndrekh said. “I am sorry I did not see your pain. You have been my shield for so long, it is too easy to forget that you are not just steel. That there are parts of you that need protecting as well.”

Zahndrekh’s hand moved slowly along Obyron’s amor until it settled over the place where once his heart had been. There was nothing there now but machinery. But Obyron’s chest still ached and his mind still reeled. And his body still reacted to the nemesor’s touch. The shoulder where Zahndrekh rested his hand was the only part of him that felt warm. The only part that didn't feel ready to crumble under the weight of everything.

“What can I do to protect you?” Zahndrekh asked. “How can I ease your pain?”

It went against all propriety and protocol. But they were alone. Who would it hurt if Obyron allowed himself one small comfort.

“I feel lost,” Obyron said. “I just want to…”

”Yes?”

”Please,” he said. “Hold me, my lord. For a moment.”

Before Obyron could think better of it, pull away, beg his lord’s pardon, Zahndrekh’s arms were around him. They struggled to fully wrap around his broad shoulders, so Zahndrekh pulled him close, buried Obyron’s face in the crook of his neck. He imagined the time of flesh, when Obyron would have been able to weep. His tears would have stained Zahndrekh’s robes.

Obyron clung to him. The lord that he did not understand and who did not understand him in turn. But that did not stop Zahndrekh from being Obyron’s anchor. His love, though it terrified him to even think the word. Yet what could he call it but love that kept him at Zahndrekh’s side? If someone offered Obyron an empire in exchange for this moment in Zahndrekh’s arms, he would have laughed in their face. It wasn’t a choice.

Perhaps that was all love really was.

“Would you like to tell me about them?” Zahndrekh asked after a long period of silence. “The comrades you lost?”

It would feel good to remember. To speak their names and their deeds and prove in some small way that they had lived. To finally allow himself to grieve and know that he would be heard.

”Yes,” Obyron said. “I would like that.”

#necrons #warhammer 40k #nemesor zahndrekh #vargard obyron #severed #zahndrekh is a bit oblivious at times but he's got that emotional intelligence buried in there #now put it to use helping your poor traumatized vargard #zahndrekh/obyron #they are married no one can change my mind #obyron literally could become a lord but he chooses to be with zahndrekh instead #i am so normal about these two

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