Chapter 40: The Deathless and the Divine
The Necrontyr, progenitors of the Necrons, had once been a race cursed by the stars. Cosmic radiation ravaged their flesh, shortened their lives, and filled their brief existences with agony. Of course they understood what radioactive decay could do to living organisms. They had lived it.
So when Trazyn saw the data, even his ancient mind reeled in fascination.
"No wonder it can survive a direct barrage from an Elegy-class assault ship," he murmured. "That creature isn't just enduring the radiation... it thrives in it. It has an organ dedicated to the production of radioactive particles. Natural radiation. Natural resistance. Remarkable."
To the Necrontyr, such a body would have been salvation.
Even now, despite having shed their flesh for deathless metal, many Necrons still searched for a way to reclaim something better—to escape the cold shell of necrodermis and find a vessel more... alive.
And in what Trazyn believed to be a relic of the Old Ones, he saw possibilities.
"Perhaps," he mused, "these organisms are not just curiosities. Perhaps they are prototypes... replacements."
With that, Trazyn shifted his priorities. Capturing Godzilla was no longer the goal—it was too massive, too powerful. Even a Dirge-class ship struggled to contain it. A Necron light cruiser might have done the job, but deploying one would attract too much attention. One light cruiser represented the strength of an entire Imperial Navy sector fleet.
Godzilla wasn't worth that risk. Not yet.
And besides... he'd already gained something far more valuable: information.
Down below, Godzilla was unleashing another salvo of radioactive fury. The sixth radiation pulse struck the already-crippled Elegy-class vessel, sending cracks spidering through its hull. Black smoke bled from its wounds. Living metal sparked and hissed, trying desperately to seal itself—but the damage was mounting too fast.
'Five direct hits, and it's still airborne...'
Even Godzilla was baffled.
[Necron engineering is monstrous,] he thought.
'They really are cheating. Like something straight out of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure.'
[Just wait till you meet the Void Dragon.]
Godzilla began charging a seventh blast.
By now, the Elegy-class vessel was visibly breaking apart. Its regeneration lagged behind the destruction. Glowing scars ran the length of its superstructure, and its engines stuttered erratically in midair.
Within the ship's heart, Isis and her lizardfolk warriors had infiltrated the Necron dimensional generator. Using their barbed tools and alchemical toxins, they triggered an unstable energy feedback loop—one strong enough to collapse a portion of the ship's power systems. Even with living metal and redundancy protocols, the damage was significant.
They didn't need to destroy the ship. They just needed to buy time.
And Godzilla was more than happy to use that time to deliver the killing blow.
Even for the second-generation Godzilla, this was a monumental feat. The Necrons were not ordinary foes. They were survivors of time itself, masters of science so advanced it bordered on sorcery. In the far future of the 41st millennium, where every miracle is laced with horror, Necron durability still felt like a joke played on the laws of physics.
And yet... here they were. Failing.
Trazyn, watching the disaster unfold, shook his head in resignation.
"The Elegy-class is lost. A shame. A fine ship. But I've gained knowledge, and a worthy specimen or two. That's worth more than any vessel."
He turned to leave. Behind him, several Lizardman warriors were being dragged away by Canoptek Scarabs and Necrodermis servitors—unlucky captives fated for his collection. They'd be presented to the Triarch, or perhaps even the Silent King himself. What the Silent King would do with such a gift was beyond Trazyn's concern.
But if it earned him a favor?
Why not.
Just as swiftly as they had arrived, the Necron forces vanished. Even the warriors still aboard the dying Elegy-class ship teleported out in shimmering beams of green light, leaving behind only the broken, smoking carcass of a warship.
Godzilla's ninth radioactive beam tore through its spine. The Elegy-class, once a masterpiece of ancient terror, cracked apart and began its final descent.
It fell, burning and groaning, into the Hive City below.
The heretics and mutants who had flocked to Chaos scattered like rats.
BOOM.
The impact rocked the hive spires. The shockwave reverberated across the city's ferrocrete towers. Smoke and debris flooded the streets. The lower hive reeled from the blow. Yet within the silence that followed... the Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus wept.
"To us," one murmured, watching the wreckage with awe in his voice, "this is no tragedy. This is a gift. A miracle from the Omnissiah himself!"
And truly, in the eyes of the Cult Mechanicus, an intact Necron vessel—any Necron vessel—was a relic of infinite value. Tech-Priests across the sector would swarm to this site like flies to sacred oil.
From the smoldering wreckage, Isis emerged with her warriors. Her psychic powers had returned at the last moment, shielding her from collapse. Her robes were singed, but her stride was steady. The Lizardmen followed in disciplined formation, and their casualties were minimal.
"Not bad," Isis muttered. "We actually pulled it off."
Her smile was feral. It was Necrons, after all.
Even the Eldar had been humbled by them. The Orks, beaten back. The Tyranids, confused. The Tau, overwhelmed. The Imperium had lost countless worlds to their return. If the Necrons failed, it was because the Old Ones themselves had come back from extinction.
But now wasn't the time for arrogance.
Across the ruined city, the forces of Chaos were collapsing. Their observation posts had gone silent. Their scouts had vanished. The Warp-sorcerers were killing each other over scraps of power.
"Commander, the traitors are falling back. The daemons are turning on their summoners."
"Emperor be praised."
The Imperial Commander had not felt such joy in years. Not since the Chaos uprising began. He looked to the heavens.
"The heretics are broken. The xenos have withdrawn. The Emperor protects."
"Almost all problems are solved..."
But then his officers spotted them.
The Lizardmen. Marching toward the tower. Among them was the towering silhouette of Godzilla—wreathed in lingering radioactive haze, his footfalls shaking the rubble. The 50-meter-tall beast radiated a level of energy the Guardsmen could see with their eyes.
Their lasguns suddenly felt like toys.
"Are... are those things our final enemy?" one soldier asked.
"By the Golden Throne," whispered another, "I'd rather fight traitors for thirty years than face them."
Imperial Guardsmen were fearless. That was true. But even their courage wavered when they remembered the sight of two or three Lizardmen ripping apart Chaos Space Marines with brute strength and fire.
Now Godzilla was walking on a road paved with dead Heretic Astartes and burning tanks, his steps inexorable.
He looked like a god.
'That's blasphemy! Heresy!'
One Guardsman slapped himself to banish the thought. He raised his lasgun with trembling hands, waiting for the commander's order. No matter the fear, they would obey. They were not Krieg, but they were loyal.
Then came salvation.
The Ultramarines arrived.
Blue-clad giants in power armor stepped onto the field, bringing hope with every thunderous step. The morale of the mortals surged at the sight of them.
But among the Astartes, there was only grim silence.
"They defeated the Necrons..."
"It's not an Astartes' place to despair," said Sergeant Carrion, removing his helmet. "But if they can defeat the Necron... the Emperor Himself must have sent them."
He clenched his fists, eyes fixed on the oncoming Lizardmen.
"Prepare yourselves. Today, we may return to the Golden Throne."
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