As Okantakht reached the surface, he finally saw his ship; the Remnant of Zenth. Hovering above the planet in absolute silence, obsidian black paired with the shifting light of his star. It was build like many of its kind, but one could tell it was different; it spread an air of death, forgotten and recorded valour, an envoy of a passed dynasty, here to forever remind one of his insignificance.

On the ground below it appeared his honour guard, headed by his right hand and his assistant, proven by their golden and silvern headmasks. But someone was missing....
Saluting in the old Necrontyr way, they stood guard as if before a doorway, and the procession led by Okantakht headed for it. As they passed the last guard, they were telepoted, one after another, into the wide entrance hall inside the vessel. The entrance hall, as the whole interior of the ship for that matter, followed his dynastic scheme.

"Ibinaten!"

The lych guard with the silver mask stepped forward.

"Phaeron Nurrahk is our honoured guest."

"Of course, my lord."

Ibinaten saluted towards Nurrahk.

"If you allow me, I will be your guide for now. I would be pleased to bring you towards your destination."

As Nurrahk's group left the entrance hall, Okantakht turned towards his right hand:

"Where is Schatten?"

"He left. Said he would return when he finished something."

Schatten was Okantakhts Triarch Praetorian. Maybe? Schatten was also head of the Assassin guild, and former personal deathmark of the silent king. Since Okantakht's entire dynasty was eradicated in the war in heaven, he had no "official" Praetorian assigned to him until Schatten got in contact with him. Maybe he would find one to replace him. You never knew with this one.

"And Akhenhotep, what is it? And where is the Deathmark? Why did he enter cloaked?"

Okantakht had noticed that the Overlord was sweeping the room as if searching something, and, of course, that the Deathmark was nowwhere to be seen. He must have retreated to his hiding hole. Of course Okantakht knew where the Deathmark resided, it was his ship after all, but he knew well that he would never try something stupid. At least he thought he knew that.

@BlackNecron | After reappearing in the entrance hall of Okantacht's vessel Akhenhotep turned to face the Phaeron when the other necron spoke, making a final search of the large room.
"The Deathmark is 'it' Phaeron. And as for your other questions I would like to know their answers as well. The coward and I need to have a talk." Akhenhotep had been working with Okantacht for several hundred years, according to how the dominant fleshlings in the galaxy measured time, and was comfortable enough to start heading towards the chambers he had on Okantacht's flagship. "If I may take my leave."

Okantakht headed towards his observatorium, still thinking about the deathmarks actions. From what he noticed Akarahel was a typical deathmark, the only thing that really interested him was taking orders and executing missions. He may have a bit of personality left, but this would lead for him to have mostly mild interest for the world. He did not do things randomly, but with a purpose. Why Akarahel fled was easy to explain; he noticed before that the deathmark wasn't adept nor interested in dealing with people who were neither his master nor his target, and so he retreated.
But still, he wanted to know what the Deathmark actually did. Maybe he would summon him.

Ahthor, his right hand, moved his head as he listened to a report, then turned towards Okantakht.

"A terran ship is hailing us. It is alone. Destroy?"

It was standart procedure.

"No. Inform our guests. And the Deathmark, tell him I have to speak to him after this. In my my chambers."

"Then at least let me talk in your stead. This is beneath you."

Ahthor was a fierce one, by Necron standards, but as loyal as one could get.

"Very well. Their primitive tech won't allow a real conversation anyway."

Ahthor teleported to the bridge in order to make preparations and contact the named necrons, while Okantakht walked towards it, pondering about his astronomical predictions and constructing hyperlogical strategies.

He had time.

Briefly pondering the nature of the second message, Victus stayed on the bridge until well after the Lord Commissar left, watching the bridge crew work. He always liked to see how things worked and, though he'd been aboard practically every pattern of Imperial vessel one could think of in his time he was well aware that every ship, even those of the same model, could be radically different when it came to how it was operated. That, and he didn't really trust the bridge crew to not use the absence of any real authority figure on the bridge as an excuse to shirk their sacred duties. "Heresy grows from idleness." He thought as he silently observed everyone from the background, confident that the imposing figure of a Space Marine would be enough to spur them on. He was sure the Commissar would send any information he needed about the boarding of the station to his dataslate, his presence at whatever briefing was going to happen would likely be unnecessary in his eyes.

Then the other ship appeared and when Victus looked around the Commissar was not present on the Bridge and he hadn't heard from him since he left. Assuming that he was not currently in a position to command the ship, Victus stepped out from the corner of the room and started taking charge. "Get into positions and tell the Master Gunner to get the ship's weapons at the ready. Have the Astropath send a message to that ship that demands identification and that they deviate from this direct course, if they do not comply within fifteen seconds... then target their engines and open fire. Inform the Lord Commissar of the current course of action but if he issues orders to do otherwise I would advise you all defer to his judgement." Though he knew that he was technically the highest ranking person on the Sword of Orion Victus understood that such direct intervention would likely not end well if combined with a blatant disregard for the authority of others, especially when it comes to interacting with other Imperial organisations. For now, though, he considered himself to be in charge of the Sword of Orion's crew until the Commissar communicated that he was, in fact, in a place from which he could assume command.

Yet another variable shows itself, another imperial ship. The odds of it all were strange to say the least, the entire scenario stunk of foul play. A station going 'dark' from unknown assailants, and now this mystery ship. As he stood in the briefing room, he supported himself with his hands resting on the table, he couldn't be in two places at once. And the boarding party would need to be briefed before any action could be taken, any delay could cost countless imperial lives. Atleast it seemed someone competent in tactic and discretion was on the bridge. Snatching the box from the wall, "Brother Victus is now in command while dealing with the newest ship to arrive. Lord Commissar Out." Now that that was out of the way he could focus on the task at hand.

Playing the two distress calls received from the station to those assembled, which consisted of his personal boarding party and the leaders of the other boarding craft. No explanation was given before they were played, and the Commissar watched the men and women for their reactions before speaking. Once the last moment of static died out an over lay appeared over the table slowly spinning on its axis. "The same speaker is in both recordings." He said flatly lighting a cigar before continuing. "But it doesn't added up. Something is amiss, and this stinks of Heresy!" He slammed his fist onto the table causing the image to flicker slightly. "The speaker tells us that the crew has been captured by 'creatures in armor' and that all systems are failing." The first message replays yet again to enforce his point. "And now in the second message the crew is running from their very own servitors." The second message plays as the Lord Commissar paces puffing on his cigar. "I know, why don't we just destroy the station from orbit and be done with it? That is not an option!" Slamming his fist down, yet again the image flickers. "We must find the source of these calls for aid and destroy them. It is our responsibility to ensure no other imperial vessel falls victim to the treachery!"

With a slight move of his hand the station zooms out, now displaying both the station and the Sword of Orion in plain view. "We will move within striking range of the station, once a full scan of the stations status has completed we will move from there. Myself and the main boarding party will load into one of the Aquila Landers. If there is someone watching from the station they will believe that is our only boarding party." Gesturing to the other leaders in the room. "You will load into Valkyries and serve as 'escorts' and exterior security. Atleast as far as image should make it appear." The station zooms back into view, several icons appear around the station. Each indicating an element of the boarding action. "As the icons indicate myself and the main party will board here. Once our Lander is inplace the Valkyries will break off to 'patrol' the station exterior. At this time you will deploy to the sections indicated by your icons. You must be quick when boarding and your Valkyrie will resume the patrol of the exterior to keep up images." From each icon paths lit up indicating the way to the control room of the station. "Your only way out is to call for extraction. If this goes sideways, as I assume it will, fall back to the stations escape pods and we will retrieve your teams using the Valkyries that inserted you. If there are no questions you are dismissed!" The last thing showing on the holo display were flashing escape pods throughout the station.

The Lord Commissar remained in the briefing room until all assembled leaders and members left before returning to the bridge himself. (Staying put till imperials take actions)

The bridge of the Remnant of Zenth was a structure worthy of a Phaeron, dominated by the massive pyramid on which he would give commands to his subjects. On its flat top currently stood three throne-like structures: the one in the middle was obviously constructed for the master of this vessel, grandiose in its decorations, massive in its obsidian beauty and adorned with the full sigil of his dynasty, surrounded by the ones of his subjugated enemies.
The throne on his left was no less magnificient, but it lacked the runes and sigils, as if waiting to be inscribed with the history of his master. This one was Nurrakhs seat, and as the Phaeron sat on it, the throne flared up and displayed the sigil of his new master in all its glory, but it was still missing the full inscriptions. It was just a substitute after all.
The one on the left side was a lot more modest and smaller in size, but still far too good for any average lord to even dream of sitting on. It was the personalized seat of Akhenhotep, and therefore complete.
As the Necrons sat on their thrones or gathered around their master, they looked upon the space before them, where, normally, the one seeking to speak to them would have been visualized, and where now instead the shape of a human vessel could be seen.
Okantakht gave a nod to his right hand and added:

"Try to hold back."

"Understood. Master."

The Lychguard uttered a silent command and the voice of a human, distorted by primitive technology, came from the projected ship:

"I'm Alpharius, Lord Primarch of the Alpha Legion and I propose parley to you, xenos. Name yourselves and we will negotiate for mutually beneficial purposes."

The lychguard answered:

"Be honored, for today two Phaerons will hear you. Speak human, and don't forget your place."

Okantakht was impressed.
Ahthor really restrained himself this much.

--After Rackham's briefing--

Once Lord Commissar Rackham (@kanila ) finished his briefing about an upcoming boarding party the leaders chosen by him scattered through the ship to make necessary preparations. A female entered her personal compartment and the door behind her slid closed. She checked that no one could enter without her permission and picked a vox-device out of her pocket, carefully adjusting it as though it was a bomb ready to explode at any moment. When the device's configuration was finished she leaned it closely to her face, half-whispering with calm voice

"This is operative №67, request permission for establishing an encrypted vox-channel," she said and added several seconds later, "the serpent is ready to strike, I repeat, the serpent is ready to strike". After speaking a code phrase there was a silence for a minute, interrupted only by electric static hissing into the communication device. A strong rasping metallic voice at last answered her and she sighed with relief.

"This is captain Tandreus, permission granted, operative №67, you've done well. Now inform me what you've managed to know of our prey's movements". The operative retold Lord Commissar's plan in details to captain Tandreus and silenced, awaiting further instructions.

"Continue to perform tasks given to you by Rackham, operative, and inform me on this boarding party's progress."

"Roger that, captain."

"Tandreus out." The female slowly stood up and headed towards her compartment's exit, preparing to perform her work assigned by the Lord Commissar. There was much work to do.....


--On the Alpha Legion's cruiser--

Captain Tandreus was calmly pacing on his command bridge, ignoring the bridge's crew's chattering and other noises produced by tech-priests and servitors busy with the ship's navigation. He clasped hands behind his back and straightened proudly, his dark green and blue power armour glittering in stark light casted by dozens of hologrhaphic pictures projected from several displays in front of him. Two snakes criss-crossed on his breastplate and two curling serpents protruded from his helmet's temples as if ready to strike. Red eye-lenses of his helmet stared coldly at a giant transparent glass several dozens meters ahead of him where asteroid fields and several stars swirling with nuclear energies were seen - the picture was magnificent in its cosmic grandeur yet captain Tandreus's mind was occupied by another things.

His agent aboard the Sword of Orion infiltrated successfully into the ship's crew - just as he had expected she would. He had met Rackham before and knew that the Lord Commissar would be assigned to his current mission so infiltration wasnt a real problem. The problem was this cursed vessel that appeared out of nowhere just in damn least appropriate time - no matter how unpredictable the Empyrean's flows were the chances that this particular vessel would somehow enter the real space at this precise moment and place were infinitesmall - someone had known about the trap and ruined Tanreus's plan. Everything was calculated perfectly - several vessels regularly traversing this region of Aralan Sector were eliminated stealthily and the Sword of Orion's arrival was expected at this precise time as well, but the accursed ship ruined his plan.

His thoughts were interrupted when several sigils on one of his control panels started to flash, indicating an incoming transmission - he frowned inside his helmet and walked towards control panels, identifying the source - the eldar maiden's ship tried to establish communication with Tandreus, in private. He sat in his command throne and activated sound-suppressing shields - no one now could hear him. He pushed one sigil and a display in front of him changed its holographic map of the Pandemius station to show his interlocutor's face - the fearsome screaming mask with two blood-red eye-lenses was staring at him and despite being separated from its wielder by many thousands of kilometers Tandreus slightly shivered under this sinister dead gaze. The voice produced by the mask's grille speaker was distorted and yet sounded incredibly songful and pleasent, with subtle but unmistakeable power and menace - no living creature could possibly have such a voice, Tandreus thought.

"What's your plan now, mon-keigh?" Jain Zar asked without any formal greetings.

"Well, I thought it was wise to see first what your lapdog would discover since you sent her to prosecute this ship?" Tandreus answered coldly. The Phoenix Lord silenced for several seconds before replying.

"I sent no one, we are alone here."

"Come on, xeno, do you think I havent learned some of your dirty tricks after decades of dealing with the Cabal? I dont make any sudden movements until your servant reports something, the situation has already slipped out of our control, we dont know what this ship is and who operates it. Continue this surveiilance and keep me informed." The Phoenix Lord pondered for a minute before giving her reply.

"Very well, hide as long as you wish, human, but be ready to act at any moment," she finally said and cut the comm link. Tandreus sighed and turned his helmet right as if looking for someone - where the hell was Sabios (@Schalli ) still? His ambassadorial mission to the xenos was supposed to progress faster and still his ship hasnt returned on the Alpha Legion's cruiser. At least he hoped Sabios gathered xenos' specimens he was ordered to. Tandreus mentally switched several runes inside his helmet's visor, picking the one belonging to Sabios's ship still orbiting the Necrons' tomb world.

"Sabios, brother, this is Tandreus, do you hear me? Report your mission's status - I'm afraid we are running out of time, you need to return with the xenos as soon as possible"

Having settled into his throne on the bridge of the Remmant of Zenth Akhenhotep nearly lost all interest in the matters being raised. The fleshling's distorted voice sounded out across the bridge, full of false power despite the interference, and the barest flicker of amusement went through his mind. A Primarch? And in charge of only a legion? Utterly pathetic.

As the mission briefing had concluded, Santana process all this new information, and the implications they brought up. Silent in his suit of armour, the marine mulled over the recordings, particularly the detail referring to the creatures in armour, as his mind could only begin to fathom what threat they faced. The fear that was ever present in the voices of the men stationed aboard the ship drew Santana's mind to the enigmatic Saharduin, yet sightings of that despicable race were few and far between, and it was unlikely these aliens were responsible. Others came to mind, the Rak'gol, almost mythic in their status as galactic boogeymen, of the orks, the hated brutes that continued to insult the galaxy with their presence, yet if this was the case, there was little sign of a vessel in the system, neither seemingly to have a flair for stealth in their operations. Clutching his left hand into a fist, he'd simply decide that whatever the threat, the good people of the Imperium required aid, and the Crimson Fist would answer their call, no matter the results.

As the guardsmen filled out, no doubt preparing their units and soldiers for the operation at hand, the astartes would stride towards the Lord Commissar, in a quick succession of thudding steps. Coming to stand before the man, Santana felt the direct menace the figure imposed to those whom he commanded. Though he himself had little interaction with those of the Commissariat, he would indeed admit that in battle, the soldiers of man would benefit from having an icon of Imperial strength there to rally to. The fact that the Commissar could also act to steel cowardice into courage, by plucking the weak from the ranks, was only another benefit to the station of a competent leader. Looking down upon the political officer, Santana would swiftly take a knee, bowing his head and making the sign of the Aquila upon his plate. His vox would growl into life, his helm letting loose his words in a booming burst of noise.

"Hail, Lord Commissar! In this time of dire need, I request your blessing to accompany the boarding party aboard this vessel. The Emperor demands blood for the atrocities committed against his people, and as his Angel of Death, I am eager to mete out this punishment."

The Space Marine, keeping his tone respectful, and his posture according to the rank before him, had been careful in his request. He sought the lord commissar's blessing, but not his permission, as he fully intended to join the operation aboard the wayward station. He was the Blood of Dorn, Praetorian of Terra, and as such, he would take this threat and do as his primogenitor had done millennia ago. He would seek out these threats to mankind, he would face them head on, and he would endure.

Though he knew that the lord commissar could very well attempt to ground him, Santana would hope he would not protest, nor misunderstand his eagerness. The Crimson Fist would not march out to seek personal glory, to snatch away from the men and women under the lord commissar's command. Ever since the regiments here had dug him from the rubble of Lothic VI, a mission that had seen his brothers perish while he survived, and granted him a place to serve until he reunited with his Chapter, Santana had taken on a debt. With each day, the debt grew larger and larger, as these people had granted him a place to mend, to repair, to rally, and make ready for the next battle, and now that it had arrived, he would begin to process of repaying this debt.

Brother Santana would serve alongside the warriors upon this vessel, he would prove his worth, and he would honour those who had been so generous to him. In this, he would not be denied.​

"Brother Santana, your presence on this undertaking is much appreciated. The men and women will be proud and driven to greater feats of strength in your presence." Replaying the recordings again he turned back to the towering Crimson Fist. "And it would do ME great honor to fight shoulder to shoulder with you, to lead these men and women by example. What do you make of these records? Do you believe they are false? And if they are not false what creatures are we dealing with that can change the will of the machine spirit?" Turning to face the slowly rotating holo display of the space station, smoke from his cigar lazily rising to the ceiling. "Whatever the threat we will overcome it. Do you have any suggestions or recommendations to the current course?" He turned back to face the towering astartes once more. It was rare for Commissars to lead the Soldier of the Imperium, but not completely unheard of. The situation felt odd to him in general.