Overlord Szarekh watched in disbelief as the human woman, holding a banner high, charged into the Necron army.
The Necron troops, forged from living metal, fell before this flesh-and-blood human like rows of stalks before a reaper.
And those humans who charged with her suddenly became fearless, roaring and grappling with the Necron, not flinching even in the face of gauss weapons, and the Pariah Nexus seemed to have no effect on them.
No, this is absolutely wrong!
Just as Szarekh was in a daze, a high-clearance quantum entanglement signal forcibly connected to his communication.
Before his eyes appeared a figure composed of sharp living metal, with four legs, tall and slender, a single eye glinting with cold light, a figure so grotesque that it stood out even among the Necron.
The metallic monster, resembling a giant spider, was in his laboratory, somewhere unknown to him, standing before an operating table where a terrified human lay.
The monster gently waved its slender limbs, like a set of scalpels, and with a slight movement, the human's body disintegrated before him, turning into surging crimson tides.
He was Illuminor Szeras, one of the foremost criminals of the Necron Dynasty. It was he who made biotransference a reality, and for tens of millions of years, he consistently believed his actions were correct, considering biotransference the necessary path for Necron evolution.
Now, with the Silent King's return, this fellow had been brought back, given immense funding to research how to reverse biotransference and turn the Necron back into flesh and blood.
It was said that some good results had been achieved, but Szarekh always harbored vigilance towards Zellars.
Illuminor Szeras, while conducting his research, said to Szarekh, "I know you're in trouble."
As he spoke, several light screens appeared before Szarekh, showing the human woman named Joan fighting from various angles.
Szarekh's army was like paper before this woman.
Szarekh narrowed his eyes slightly. This angle of photography, so comprehensive and so tricky, was it from a Pocket Dimension?
He had no fondness for the Illuminator; after all, this guy was one of the culprits behind the Necron biotransference. In Szarekh's heart, Illuminor Szeras was even more disgusting than the Silent King.
Even the Silent King had to admit the mistakes he made back then, while Zellars still refused to acknowledge his.
"I can help you solve this problem," Illuminor Szeras said, staring at Szarekh with his single eye that glowed with an eerie light, "using my method."
His method?
Szarekh let out an extremely cold snort.
He, of course, knew what Zellars' method was: nothing but the vile, shameless Deathmarks.
These despicable snipers and assassins could traverse freely between Pocket Dimensions, almost impossible to guard against.
But assassination was too dishonorable a tactic; many Phaerons of the Necron Dynasties were unwilling to use Deathmarks, and ancient Necron war etiquette also forbade using Deathmarks against other nobles.
Those images just now were clearly also captured by Deathmarks from within a Pocket Dimension.
But Zellars, that beast, that scoundrel, didn't care about honor, while he, Overlord Szarekh, still did.
If honor was gone, how could he do business with other dynasties and earn wealth to fill his treasury?
"Get lost!" Szarekh roared in refusal.
Zellars shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.
"If you can capture her alive, you can hand her over to me. I'm very interested in her—of course, I will pay you whatever reward you desire."
As Zellars finished speaking, he cut off the communication.
Szarekh snorted coldly, not intending to obey Zellars' command.
That scoundrel Illuminator was the chief in charge of the anti-Empyrean field appointed by the Silent King.
But Szarekh was only hired by the Silent King with money; his responsibility was merely to guard this planet. What did Zellars' orders have to do with him?
Szarekh intended to end this war in the manner of a Necron noble.
Joan, like a burning dark-golden sun, swept into the Necron lines with wildfire, incinerating a group of Necron warriors who tried to shoot her in the blink of an eye.
A Necron Lord, seeing this, wielded a phase scythe and charged at Joan. This Necron Lord had an amulet inscribed with a dynastic emblem hanging on his chest.
It was a Shadow Medallion, a Gloom Prism, a Necron artifact capable of isolating Warp influence.
This Lord probably thought something was wrong with the Blackstone Pylon, which was why Joan's Psyker power wasn't suppressed, so he wore this Necron anti-Warp weapon, attempting to suppress Joan's Psyker power.
"Die, beast, along with your Warp Psyker tricks—"
But Joan's reaction speed exceeded the Necron Lord's expectations. She seemed to know the Necron Lord's movements in advance, gracefully dodging his attack.
The battle standard drew a golden trajectory in the air, the power spear on the flagpole whistling and flashing, directly piercing into the Necron Lord's chest.
Scorching golden flames swirled and burned, gushing from the spearhead and injecting into the Necron Lord's chest.
"Wh-what—" The Necron Lord cried out in disbelief, but in the blink of an eye, he turned into a pile of ashes, dissipating under the fierce winds of the battlefield.
"This isn't Psyker power," Joan said calmly. "We prefer to call it faith."
Even the living metal of the Necron could not withstand the scorching fire of faith.
Fire burned within Joan, flowing beneath her skin.
The Necron Lord's Immortals tried to surround Joan, but Joan merely flashed, brandishing her battle standard, and the scorching flames engulfed all the Immortals.
The Astra Militarum who witnessed this let out deafening battle roars.
The Ultramarines, meanwhile, scratched their heads at this completely irrational scene. Even their Librarians couldn't use Psyker powers at such close range, yet that woman could.
The Black Templars warriors accepted it more easily, letting out shouts of praise for the Emperor.
But at this moment, the Necron around Joan began to retreat, leaving a circular empty space around Joan, firmly holding back other Astra Militarum, as if their bodies had formed an arena.
Joan also stopped, looking at the air before her, where the smoke of battle drifted.
Electricity, light, and fire flickered in the air before Joan. Time and space instantly became blurred and indistinct.
The Pocket Dimension, curled at a microscopic level, unfurled, and a figure almost as tall as Joan in her Paragon Warsuit appeared.
A phase cloak drifted with the ripples of space-time, and Overlord Szarekh appeared on the dust-laden battlefield. His silver figure did not dim its radiance in the surrounding gloom, and he held a verdant void scythe, his eyes, glinting with an eerie light, fixed on Joan before him.
Screech—
The sound of the scythe cutting through the air rang out.
Szarekh pointed the scythe in his hand at Joan, who was clad in the Paragon Warsuit.
"Human, let our respective peoples cease this meaningless slaughter."
"For the outcome of the war will be decided in our duel."
"I am Overlord Szarekh of the Nihilakh Dynasty, and I challenge you to a glorious one-on-one duel!"
Almost at the instant Szarekh's voice sounded, the Necron warriors who were fighting the humans suddenly stopped their attack, retreating several steps backward.
The Necron construct warriors, who had been unleashing deadly firepower, also ceased their operations, standing silently on the battlefield.
The Astra Militarum and Astartes, though momentarily stunned, had no intention of stopping their assault.
"Ignorance! Your deaths are meaningless!"
"My soldiers can regenerate continuously through the Reanimation Protocols, but when you die, you are dead."
Szarekh roared, then looked at Joan:
"There is no need for your warriors to continue sacrificing themselves. If you slay me, this battle will end."
"Similarly, if I slay you, this battle will also end. The fighting beyond us is already meaningless."
Joan gently waved her battle standard, signaling the Astartes and Astra Militarum to cease their attack.
The Astra Militarum and Black Templars obeyed the command. The Ultramarines hesitated for a moment but still followed Joan's instruction.
"Our duel is also meaningless," Joan said softly. "You are destined to be defeated."
"So confident, human!" Szarekh was not angered; instead, he began to slowly circle Joan, maintaining a certain distance.
"It is not confidence; it is merely that Saint Doraemon has foreseen everything," Joan shook her head and said.
Strangely, Szarekh did not detect any fanaticism in her voice, only a faint sadness.
"Little girl, as an elder of your species, I will teach you a truth: the gods are full of lies and cannot be trusted," Szarekh said with a smile, tightening his grip on the scythe.
"He is not a god, at least not yet," Joan's tone still lacked fanaticism, only a sorrow as light as mist.
"Then why do you worship Him?" Szarekh seemed intrigued by Joan's words, asking with interest.
"He said it was because there was no other choice," Joan said in a clear voice. "But I prefer to say it is because He gave humanity a choice."
Screech!!!!
The sound of the scythe cutting through the air rang out. Szarekh's figure vanished before Joan in the blink of an eye, entering the Pocket Dimension.
Then, in an instant, he reappeared behind Joan, the verdant void scythe in his hand, glowing with a green light, cut through the air, tearing through space-time, carrying a flurry of flickering energy particles, hooking towards Joan's neck.
"Die, little girl!"
"I will die, but not now."