Trazyn arrived at Solamnace right after giving that cube to the human primarch. He received the coordinates immediately after. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the coordinates—a planet he was very familiar with. The planet where he and Orikan had clashed for ten millennia. The planet Serenade.
A mockery, he thought at first, then realized how clever his colleague was. No Overlord would turn down that planet for anything anymore. The awakened council had spent ten millennia on that piece of rock and lost so much in the process. They were a prideful bunch—Trazyn more so than most. He had a choice, of course: refuse to accept defeat and leave the prize behind, or accept it with dignity and claim what was rightfully his.
The time it took him to reach Serenade was short—he had many means of transportation more advanced than most. The planet was completely destroyed, leaving only an ocean of magma. Yet that man had never lied to him, not even once.
When his ship was about to land, the cube he carried emitted a signal, and part of the magma split open just enough for his vessel to enter. His servants guided the ship masterfully through the narrow entrance as his sensors detected a spatial change. He was in a pocket dimension, of course. There was no way such vast amounts of artifacts could be hidden on so small a planet.
His ship landed and he stepped onto the marble hall. And there they were—countless artifacts from all around the galaxy and beyond. He hated to admit it, but his colleague was a better thief than he was. Or perhaps had more people at his disposal. Well, he was competing against the entirety of humanity. Oh, how mighty that humanity had been—not the rotten corpse it was now, but the once-shining behemoth of a civilization.
He had been truly worried about his dynasty. There was no way to win the war without the return of the Silent King or the rise of a new king to unite the divided dynasties. Yet his worries had been unnecessary, as that behemoth had crumbled under its own weight, leaving only that rotting carcass.
He continued to walk through the halls of the museum. His former self might have wanted to store these artifacts individually, but he knew there was a control center that would allow him to take them all at once. That was better anyway—sometimes stasis corrupted the exhibits.
The control room was simple and clear, a characteristic of Noah's creations. "Even an Ork can use them," he liked to say. Trazyn agreed it was simple enough for such brutes to use, even if clumsily and foolishly. The central exhibit in the control room was a glass compartment filled with green liquid. A silhouette could be seen in the opaque fluid.
There was a message on the computer, left by his dear colleague. He opened it, but his miraculous mechanical brain refused to believe it. So he read it again and again and again... until his mind had processed the same short message a billion times. Then he believed.
Trazyn felt his head spinning, even though that should not have been possible in his metal and soulless body. His arms felt weaker even though they were completely fine. So did his legs and everything else. He didn't breathe, but he felt suffocated.
He was having a panic attack, and memories stabbed his brain like burning blades. He remembered the flame, remembered the pain of being consumed, his most dear possessions stolen—things he hadn't known how valuable they were to him. And now the stolen was returning to his empty metal husk, and he crumbled.
Trazyn felt.
After sixty million years of dormant sleep and a timeless, soulless existence, Trazyn the Infinite felt once again.
And the body in the compartment opened its eyes.
******************
Mars Invasion and Forging
My body charged through the thin atmosphere of Mars, accelerating even more as I braced myself for the impact. Yeah, I have ships and rockets and drop pods and everything else other than just diving through, but where's the fun in that?
Anyway, as I crashed into the planet, a giant crater formed around me and the shockwave alerted all of the Martians near me. The others felt my psychic roar. And with such an obvious declaration of war, the Martians all charged toward me.
They weren't mindless like some bugs, but their aggressiveness was really too much. I can see why those old farts limited them. They charged me, but their bodies were too weak to defend against my strikes. I pulled out the Dawn Blade to examine it even further. Martians were a race with quite the longevity, if I remembered correctly—or even if I remembered wrong, it doesn't matter since there are so many of them.
The sword was fascinating, to be honest. Quite the innovative idea. It wasn't stealing the victims' life force as I first assumed, but their time was the thing getting stolen. The idea was fascinating, but this thing was obviously a prototype.
Just in the minute it took me to kill a few thousand Martians, I found over a billion flaws. Most were microscopic, yes, but when you add them up, they impeded the efficiency of the sword by quite a lot. I can improve this baby significantly. I had a perfect streak of giving my nephews the best gifts, after all, and I'm not losing that now.
I don't know what I was expecting, but these guys were boring. They even started to run away and forced me to send them a psychic aggravation attack I learned from Khorne. They went batshit insane after that, but they were still just too easy!
So I just teleported all of them in front of me to speed up the process. I hope you're not asking why I didn't kill them with teleportation. (AN: If you really do, go watch some Windette.) Anyway, our hero in spandex finally arrived.
Well, he only found quite grayish gore and me in complete disappointment. Clark just looked and charged at me—tried to, more likely—and fainted that moment. I think my warnings about his completely non-existent mental barriers failed to pass through that barrier. Or he just wasn't listening.
I also promised to train him, which I doubt he'll accept now. He might be a hero, but I am not. I am a ruler, and a ruler at some point has to dirty his hands. But a good ruler knows how to clean them too.
Anyway, I just teleported to Earth. My day is ruined—I'm still in denial about how weak they were. To think I saw them as threats is humiliating. To be fair, I had quite the advantage over them since their main weapon is psychic attacks and I am way superior in that regard. So it was like a Thousand Sons marine possessing a Flesh Tearer chaplain.
Well, let's go and forge some weapons. I also need a good one for myself. I left my dear Tremor to Perturabo. I also left him my Velvera. The Tremor was an axe I made from pure blacksteel—a steel with blackstone properties—and I even put a black hole on top, which was both amazing-looking and caused tremors in space itself when I hit with it.
Velvera was a rapier I made. It didn't really suit me, but it was a nice weapon. A lot more feminine than I first thought it would be. The alloy made the sword flexible and incredibly durable, while the tech I added made it pierce and cut through every kind of armor. Well, I'm sure he can find someone worthy to use them.
I also left Clark at his home in Kent farm because I'm not an asshole. Then I entered the workshop and started to forge Damian's new katana.
I pulled a chunk of Chronodermis—an alloy used by the Harbingers of Eternity—and put it into the forge. After it was heated to a pure white glow, I placed it onto the anvil and started to hammer it. Was it accurate? No. Was that how forging actually works? Fuck no. Was that important? Hell yeah.
You see, I am a mechanical god, so when I craft things, my every move is divine. Because so many people believe in this kind of forging, my moves are more holy than they would have been otherwise. Does it make sense now?
Alas, it is what it is. I continued to strike the steel, folding it over itself again and again while improving its chronophagic properties. When the steel became pure enough, I reheated it with golden flames—because again, divinity—and started the real forging process.
The metal stretched with my strikes as it started to resemble a blade. When it was thin and forged enough, which took quite a long time, I pulled back the blade and dipped it into a bucket filled with my blood. I think you understand why at this point.
The blood unnaturally evaporated as the steel hardened and cooled. Now I had a pitch-black blade with a crimson edge. I started to sharpen it while I crafted its handle. I made a skull-shaped tsuba—which, you know, Warhammer and stuff. It also fits the vibe, you know. A black skull with ruby eyes...
As the blade finished, I also made a sheath for it. I used necrodermis for the sheath, and it can repair the blade even if it was completely destroyed. Also some summoning magic here and there, some anti-magic elements from blackstone, and just a little bit of kryptonite just in case was also in the sword.
And a lot more things, actually—I really had an ADHD phase there, so there are a lot of minor but useful features. Oh, and most importantly, you can hide it by turning it into a belt. More accurately, it has its own belt, and when you wear the belt, you can store the sword in it. I made a small pocket space there.
Like an inventory, you know... I actually want one. Well, there are still a few hours before my session with Damian, and I'm sure that won't hurt anybody, will it? But the same sword wouldn't fit. Hmm, let's make a halberd this time. Something quite fancy and dominant, worthy of a conqueror.
I opened the music back up—it really lifts my soul and my hammer. Anyway, back to the hammering.
"Brothers of the mine rejoice!Swing, swing, swing with me!Take your pick and take your voice!Sing, sing, sing with me!"
**************************
AN: Suprise to all. Double release in the honor of my past bithday. Which was the past week today. I completely forgot to write an extra for it. Anyway thanks for reading and do you guys any idea on Noah's halberd? I would like to hear it.