In the shadowed corners of the galaxy, where even the light of the Emperor’s stars falters, the ancient Necrons rise from their eons-long slumber. They are not merely warriors but the remnants of a once-great civilization, older than humanity’s first steps. The Necrons were once the Necrontyr, a race cursed by short lives and eternal suffering under the relentless radiation of their sun. In their desperation, they made a pact with the C’tan, the Star Gods, trading their mortal forms for immortal, soulless bodies of living metal. Thus, they became the Necrons, and their empire stretched across the stars, unmatched and unstoppable.
But the price of immortality was steep. The Necrons were betrayed by the C’tan, who feasted upon their souls, leaving them as nothing more than mechanical husks, their minds bound in an endless cycle of obedience and war. The Necrons rebelled against their god-like masters, shattering the C’tan into shards and imprisoning them as weapons of war. However, the Necron Empire was fractured and weakened by this conflict. To avoid total annihilation, the Necrons entered a deep stasis, entombing themselves in forgotten worlds, waiting for the time when they would once again rise to reclaim the galaxy.
Now, after millions of years, the galaxy trembles as the Necrons awaken from their tombs. With cold precision, they march forth, their bodies glinting with the eerie green glow of gauss energy, capable of disassembling matter at a molecular level. Their weapons, relics of a bygone age, are far beyond the understanding of any living race. The Necrons do not know fear, nor do they feel pity or remorse. They are relentless, calculating, and driven by a singular purpose—to restore their dominion over the galaxy and obliterate any who stand in their way.
Across the stars, entire worlds fall silent as the Necron legions march in perfect, unyielding order. Their phalanxes are led by Overlords and Lords, ancient kings whose memories of their past glories drive them to reclaim their lost empire. These rulers, though bound by the cold logic of their machine forms, remember fragments of their past lives, and some are haunted by the vestiges of their humanity. Yet they are as merciless as they are calculating, commanding legions of undying warriors, war machines, and constructs that defy comprehension.
In the face of the Necron tide, the younger races of the galaxy can only cower in fear or mount desperate defenses that inevitably crumble before the Necrons’ inexorable advance. The Necrons are the embodiment of inevitability, the creeping dread of an ancient power that cannot be reasoned with or halted. They are the silent reapers of the stars, their cold, metallic forms a chilling reminder that the galaxy’s past is far from dead—and its future may yet belong to the Necrons once more.