Warhammer 40K: Anti-Haremist [OC]

[C28] Epilogue: Smartphone

Dark times were ahead for the continent housing many kingdoms of old.

The assault failed and, despite rigorous preparations, was suddenly pushed back.

It happened so quickly. The Necrons were fierce, but they weren't as voracious as they were now.

It was like they all received an important firmware update. That update seemingly unlocked their true potential.

Crypteks struck their heavy hitters with mid-day thunder.

Destroyers were swift, coordinating with each of their cult to vaporize and disassemble all attackers and defenders. At the force of their irradiating blades and guass flares, the sweetness of fruit tasted like dust in the mouths of humanity, and they were not prepared for its drought taste.

Immortals broke down their walls and culled their siege batteries. Their intense durability compared to the normal Necrons allowed them to sustain zero casualties.

Flayed Ones, autonomous as they somewhat are, hopped in and out of their pocket dimension, preying on the despair and horror of the weak flesh of the humans, elves, dwarves, and anyone unbeyond the fabric of immortality. Leen was unexpectedly assassinated by one, and her guts were used to lather the carapace of the hunched Flayed One whilst it desperately tried to stuff her muscles and bones through its slit metal mouth.

And the unexpected variable that led to all society quickly crumbling like a house on loose gravel, the Deathmark killed all their rulers. One baleful eye, filled with hard code and dense coldness, shudders any who even sees it.

Their last hope, Touya, never returned from their intrusion within the tombs of the Necron Lord.

King Tristwyn of Belfast threw himself away from his throne, wailing woes and despairs at the loss of, not only his daughter but also his son-in-law. In his anguish, he tore open the front of his garbs.

King Jamukha of the Fallen Kingdom Mismede died in his sleep, along with all the subjects of his kingdom. Every citizen, every peasant, every noble, and every royalty, their cause of death is unknown, but they all died at the same time. Investigators failed to notice the dust-sized luminescent micro-scarabs that bred death internally. Their collective deaths were dubbed as a curse—Necropolis Rex.

In truth, all of Mismede were already infected with the tiny Necron scarabs, ever since the projection of the "first Yarrick."

Nothing else survived.

The Phrase were turned into passion projects of Trazyn and the Islands of Babylon were taken by Rui along with the androids and their AIs.

Soon after, the world became naught but a Tomb World for the Necrons, the first outpost of the ancient race in this new universe.

---

A Deathmark shoots the final surviving human from the highest point of the belltower.

Seeing its mission completed, this one initiates the portal of hexagons and distortions, and then this one receives an intermission from its overlord.

Projecting from this one's eye, this one views a holographic projection of what looks like the shiny metal posterior of a Necron.

"Urgh, ugh, mmhm." He grunts in minor discomfort as if reaching for something.

Shifting the projection capture, it was revealed that the shiny metal ass belonged to Trazyn.

Trazyn: "Mh. Mgh. What?"

He says, disgruntled, as he puts together a glass puzzle from before the Dark Age of Technology.

"This one does not understand. This one did not initialize communications uplink."

Trazyn: "Huh. Must've butt-dialed you. Well anyway, are the things done?"

"This one is confident. The final human on the planet has been purged."

Trazyn: "Mhm."

He acknowledges, shifting thousands of pieces at the natural speeds of a Necron Overlord, a speed even Astartes struggle severely with.

Trazyn: "Alright, pack up and let's go! I'm going on vacation!"

The Deathmark doesn't know how to respond to that. In all its programs and complex subroutines, this one does not understand how to truly accommodate the situation.

As this one does as it's instructed, Trazyn stops it.

Trazyn: "Wheeere do you think you're going?"

"This one is being recalled."

Trazyn: "No you're not."

He says plainly.

Trazyn: "You're coming with me. Pack my stuff, we're going on vacation!"

"This... This... This one... Very well."

And thus Trazyn and the Deathmark take a vacation in the relatively untainted world they had just turned into a world of Necrons. There's still grass and foliage, flora and fauna, but it is slowly configured to sustain maintenance and autonomous ecological equilibrium.

This feels like a weird show or parody. "Trazyn and the Deathmark: On Vacation?"

At the very least, they went to the shooting gallery first.

The Deathmark won by the skin of a human's teeth.

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[A/N: Thank the Emperor that this is finally over. I'll probably work on this fanfic every now and then, but not always. I have other plans depending on my inspiration.]