Skinless

[Alzer]

Part 1. Flesh

Quiesin’s skin shuddered as it passed through the phase portal. The green glow of the portal and Quiesin’s gauss flayer shed an eerie visage of the other soldiers around it. One by one, each hulking form found its position in the phalanx. There was no light from anything save the weapons carried by each Necrontyr, so each relied on the view plates to see the horde of Eldar before them, cursed servants of the haughty Old ones. As the Eldar came forth Queisin raised its weapon, directing a sickly green light into the abdomen of one onrushing warrior. The Eldar’s flesh turned to dust layer by layer, until not even bones were left, only the twisted, bloody remains of it’s legs on the ground.
Queisin’s was not the only shot that found it’s mark the dark field was covered in the glistening remains, the truth of the Eldar’s fate lost to the darkness save for when a gauss blast hissed by. After several ticks of Quesin’s life the battle was over, and the Necrontyr soldiers turned back, and marched into the portal once more.

Of the many planets held by the Necrontyr, Naegeddon was one of the more pleasant that Quesin had been to, a once lush world, which its kind had turned into a paradise of smog and machines. Great towering obelisk housed the soldiers, and one of the great C’tan, the Gods of the stars themselves, was here. No Necrontyr dared to look upon the C’tan who had been guiding the proud warrior race of the Necrontyr against the bitter old ones and their Eldar slaves, freeing them to travel the void itself. History told of the first C”tan, the great bringer of the night, which had come from the star of Necros itself, the ancient home planet of the Necrontyr. The great C’tan had granted such power to the Necrontyr and they served the C’tan loyally against the immortally hated foe. The Old Ones, for whom decades seemed seconds, who flaunted their long life at the Necrontyr, jeering at them for living for a mere century. So the Necrontyr had evened the score, the Old Ones wouldn’t live so long if the where blasted into molecules, no snide jests at Quesin’s expense could be made by lips turned to ash in the dark of a sky less moon.

As Quesin made its way to the barracks obelisk that was its home, it caught a glimpse of swirling liquid gold, beyond a crowd of reveling Necrontyr. Quesin itself had never been able to pay direct homage to one of the C’tan, but hoped that some day soon the chance would arrive. It shouldered it’s gauss flayer and marched along, placing the long weapon with it’s tubes and green lightning in a rack beside it’s chamber, the thick armored shoulder guards and gauntlets of a Necrontyr soldier were removed by thin automaton arms, and pulled deeper into its chamber, then came the breastplate, and greaves. Quesin felt oddly light without its armor, the last month it had been wearing the metal, like a second skin, phasing from battlefield to battlefield, some skirmishes, some battles stretching on for days. All this fighting had left many of its comrades dead. Some of those that had died were soldiers whom Quesin had trained with, some had just been there, and others it had shared a dome shelter with, sharing stories of crushing victories over the Old Ones, over the Eldar, and of comrades lost in battle. After the armor was gone though, Quesin felt vulnerable, and quickly stepped into the translucent sheath of the washing facilities, liquid, cold as the void itself, washed across its skin, relieving the itching sensation left by too many phase-jumps. Once the set cycle of the washing station ended, it marched into the designated barracks cell, and lay down on the metal cot there. The cot was formed to feel like Necrontyr armor, and to Quesin, nothing was more comfortable, it fell into unconsciousness.

After several hours, a klaxon sounded, signaling for all the soldiers to wake up. Then an announcement came over the vox system. “All soldiers are to gather at the base of the Central pyramid, the C’tan has summoned the Necrontyr of Naegeddon to its service.” Quesin was overwhelmed to be called upon by one of the C’tan, such an honor was rare among the Necrontyr, and even for an entire planet to be called to the direct service of the Star Gods was nearly unheard of. The mechanical clamps drew forth, clamping Quesin’s worn battle armor over its tall heavy frame. Once the automatons had finished their work the soldier stepped into the hall and waited for all the other Necrontyr to be in line before marching out of the barracks obelisk once again.

[Alzer]

The full Legion of Naegeddon had more than filled the plaza before the central pyramid, many soldiers stood upon the steps, half covering the structure itself, and at the top of the pyramid, what seemed to be miles away, Quesin could see a figure made of swirling glistening gold, the Messenger, it had heard of this C’tan before the first god to speak with the Necrontyr, three stories tall and wrapped in billowing metal sashes, the C’tan’s feet floated a story above the ground itself, the massive figure was by no small means the physical embodiment of the Stars themselves. However Quesin noticed something else, the beings seemed to be husky Necrontyr made of polished metal, but something didn’t seem quite right about them, from here it couldn’t tell exactly what though. When all of the Necrontyr had gathered about the central pyramid a great, sweet voice emanated from the golden C’tan, “Welcome my children, my proud warriors, my…Necrontyr.” Quesin was dazed by the euphoria of hearing just those simple words from the wondrous being, “I have come to you with great news; the short lived ness of your race is something to fear no longer.” It couldn’t see the C’tan smile but for some reason it knew that the great golden god before it was doing so. “My children, my loyal soldiers, the C’tan themselves have found the cure for all of your ailments, the elixir to,” the being made a wide sweep of it’s arm, bringing in the entire crowd, “your mortality.” This had the crowd’s complete and undivided attention. “We have devised a way to place your minds and souls inside an eternal body, never aging, never decaying, nearly impossible to slay.” At this the armored beings at the top step stood at attention, something about them didn’t seem right to Quesin still. When it squinted the armor glinted daylight into it’s eyes, ‘are we to be made of metal?’ it thought to itself. The Messenger continued it’s grand speech, “my children, my grand legion, you shall become immortals, you shall rise above death and bring the universe into your own grasp!” The crowd was cheering, howling praise for the glorious C’tan and it’s wisdom. Quesin wasn’t so sure about the idea, eternal life sounded grand and all, but what would it do once all it’s enemies were dead? What is an immortal warrior to do with no more enemies? It pushed the thought to the back of it’s mind, there were so many lesser beings to be brought under the rightful reign of the Necrontyr that eternal life would hardly leave Quesin bored.

Several days later the Necrontyr of Quesin’s Barracks were summoned to the temple, a strange machine, great and tarantulan hung in the air, Necrontyr life fluids reeked from the machine, it was a familiar smell. One by one Necrontyr warriors marched before the machine, clacking metal pincers drew out from the machine pulled the soldier up and a great maw, pincers radiating a sick electrical aura closed around each soldier’s head, arcs of electricity spread around the body of the Necrontyr, then the forms went limp and were dropped into a pit. Soon Quesin stepped out in front of the arachnid machine, and stared up as the green talons descended, the mandibles clutched around its head, energy sparked through Quesin, it’s memory and awareness flashing into the sickly maw

[Alzer]

The being awoke, energy coursed through artificial veins. A metallic head turned green lenses pulled information of the surrounding tomb in. It had a strange sense of self, but no name, no memories, all the being knew was it had been made to punish and enslave whatever the C’tan wished it to. A green portal twisted to life, sickly energy commanding the being to follow a dozen others like it through. The being held a weapon in its skeletal metal hands, a gauss flayer, as soon as it stepped through the portal it saw the enemy, the flayer was leveled, at them, and it fired. The being watched as the green energy vaporized half of an eldar soldier, legs removed the pitiful being spilled life fluid to the ground. Its leader commanded it, a buzzing machine voice to move towards the enemy position. The being obeyed, another eldar soldier, one to be punished, leaped out and ripped the being’s arm off with a silvery blade. Lifting the heavy gauss flayer to the side, it swatted the annoying fleshy warrior, axe blade opening a gouge in the frail living thing’s head. Once the immediate annoyance was dispatched, the being swung the bayoneted axe of it’s flayer into the ground, grabbed the fallen arm put it to the stump, the metal fuzzed to itself, sparking veins reconnecting, flexing the reattached metal fingers around the flayer once again and it marched back into the phalanx line. Smoke lasers and gauss beams shredding through the sky. The punishment commenced.

The being fought on, never tiring; never slowing from gapping cuts in its circuited flesh. As it’s axe fell, it looked at it’s arm, then looked at the arm leaking red life fluid on the ground before it as it’s owner screamed. Its mind sparked, a memory of flesh and blood went through the nerve center within the machine. The being dropped its weapon, staring at the screaming Eldar, then at itself. The metal skeleton itched, there should be flesh over a skeleton, muscle and skin. The being was not right, it needed skin, needed flesh. A warrior needed to be proud of its strength. The green eyes flickered yellow, the phalanx had moved on, the being and the Eldar stood staring at one another, Eldar clutching it’s bleeding stump of a shoulder, while the metal being clutched its skull. One last spark flashed. The being remembered who it had been, remembered having skin, it needed skin again, needed skin now. Stepping, hulking over the Eldar, it clutched the fleshy creatures head, then with the other hand, dug metal fingers into the chest and pulled. The living screamed as the its bare chest was ripped off by the dead. The being didn’t need the creature’s screams it needed its skin. The metal claws tightened down and shattered the slender skull of the Eldar, than slowly, metal claws tore the skin. Leaking pieces of flesh stretched and draped over a metal frame. The being had flesh again, but there were still patches of metal left open, this wouldn’t do, a warrior needed a full sheath of flesh to function. Striding out hunched it found more corpses, tearing their skin off, and wrapping itself in the wondrous, dripping, elastic clothing.

Time had passed since the slaughter of the Eldar, the Being no longer had its borrowed skin, nor did it have hands or a flayer. Fingers had been replaced by slender blades the length of the being’s forearm. There were others, metal skeletons with razor edged finger blades. The being heard a whining sound from above, then a green flash. Earth surrounded the being, once such a burial would have suffocated it, but now there was no need to breath, the only thing it required was flesh to cover its metal bones. Long claws punched up through the earth, it pulled itself out from a layer of strangely crusted rock over the dirt. The only command, was to kill, the being could kill, killing would let it have skin again, skin which was the only desire. The being and its fellows stepped out. The enemy was not Eldar this time. The enemy looked like Eldar, but short, clumsy, armed with strange guns that spat red beams. It ignored the tiny black scorch marks the weapons of these pitiful prey made, scuffling foreword it went to work. The strange pitiful child creatures obviously filled with fear as the being mauled the face off of the first victim, a swipe of the claws hurling the thing into a wall. Yellow lenses regarded the red fluid now glistening on metal claws. These things had flesh, flesh is what it wanted, and it would take their flesh. The being would be skinless no more.

[Hive Fleet Hydra]

Umm, Necrons don't talk. At all. Only Pariahs can talk, and they usually are controlled by a Lord. So ya, this story is pretty screwed until you fix that.

[Alzer]

It's not actually Necron until part 2. At which point it doesn't talk. I was very careful to make sure the difference between Necrontyr and Necron were developed.

[Hive Fleet Hydra]

Oh. Well, that makes me look really, really dumb. I'll be more careful, but I'm warning you: its hard to write a story on Necrons from what I've seen. They have no conscience, so no thoughts, or controlled actions for that matter. And their life is: kill, butcher, destroy, raze, kill, kill kill kill and kill some more. Forever until they are defeated. But maybe you'll make it.

[Alzer]

Hmm? oh this was it, it was just a short-story there's a reason I only went a few paragraphs with the Necron PoV. I agree that writing anything longer then that outside of the eyes of like...a lord or Pariah would be alot of "there was a thing, I hate things I killed the thing...etc."

[badxample]

I liked it. It gives fluff to the flayers, and even semi-humanizes the necrons as you can see a little more from their point of view. Most Necron stories are written from the point of view of it's enemies, much the same as tyranids stories. keep up the good work.

[Archlord101]

Thi is very good it gave me a bit more of aan understanding of wha the Necrontyr were like, and why there are flayed ones. Very well done!