Hey everyone, it’s Gunum! I’m back with the primary lore for my army before diving into the new Grand Narrative. I also wanted to take this time to chat with you all and show you where I’m at with my Necrons. On a personal note, I’ve been a bit quieter lately – I’m in my final semester of college and graduating this semester. December 20th can’t come soon enough!
For those who remember my post from last year, I’ve put much effort into painting and assembling my Necrons. Thankfully, since I’m playing the same faction again after my victory last year, I didn’t need to do much this time, just gluing fireballs to a bunch of robots. It’s been an incredible process over three years to complete. I’m not claiming to be some master modeler because I’m not, but I’m pretty proud of the little touches I’ve added to all my units.
Below is my full battle force for the narrative, with a few changes. Due to narrative choices, I’ve had to focus more on Destroyers and Flayed Ones than I initially wanted while looking to make units like Warriors a primary focus. Unfortunately, with my Lychguard and
I won’t be able to include the Overlords killed off in the narrative, and I’m limiting my Immortals for the same reason. This reflects how the story has influenced my army composition, restricting my choices quite a bit.
Since my force has been awakened for some time, playing as the Awakened Dynasty detachment feels a bit odd. I’m still undecided on what detachment to play, but I’ll update you once I decide. With my recent abduction by Zenge, playing as the potentially underwhelming Hyper Crypt detachment might be a route I explore.
Finally, below is a deep dive into the current lore of my Dynasty, picking up directly after our last grand narrative and leading right into the ongoing war we’re about to face. Please let me know if you have any thoughts or want to buy me a drink. I’ll see you all at the Grand Narrative!
Hemocan: The Burning Gift
The deck was quiet, save for the subtle hum of the navigation system at work. Then a thing of fire and soot arrived, robbed in an almost chameleonic glory, born not from the Necron craft but from somewhere far darker. It didn’t ask; it simply declared. Its voice was not one of negotiation, but of inevitability, and even as the flames licked the deck around it, there was no damage to be seen.
“This is the blessing of my master,” it spoke, its voice dripping with mockery. “Payment for services rendered.”
The Necron Psychomancer Ascendant, Gun’um, floated unyieldingly. Blessings? What did the Necrons know of such things? They did not pray, nor did they beseech gods for favor. Even when they enslaved the C’tan, it was by force, not faith. Yet this creature was a Daemon Prince of Tzeentch, no less—claiming to bestow gifts they never asked for. The thrumming hum of nearby Blackstone, nearly melting into slag in the creature’s presence, served as an ominous precursor to the Chaos that would soon unravel.
An Escape Through Fire
The Dynasty, swollen with success, had already begun preparations for its next conflict. The scientists labored tirelessly, crafting new, revitalized warriors for their upcoming engagement. Yet there was palpable urgency; they needed to flee the planet, hastening to the already dimmed Doleman gates, desperate to escape before they were trapped. The being on their deck had already decreed that this was the only way out. As the gates were broken, their hope of escape was destroyed.
Their harvest had been fruitful—hearts for the blood generators, new warriors forged in secret chambers—but they needed to leave before the system consumed them entirely.
As the ships’ sensors began picking up the screams of true warriors of Chaos being sacrificed en masse, the cruel figure aboard the deck smiled, promising that freedom could only be obtained through them. Gun’um outright rejected the offer. The Necrons did not need the Ruinous Powers and had assumed that they held no sway over them. But the entity’s smile deepened as it spoke in confusing yet truthful riddles. It presented itself as a savior—offering gifts to its chosen champions in exchange for their help freeing it from its planetary prison. These gifts were denied. These promises are empty. It was like offering wings to fish in the sea, useless.
Since assuming control of the Tomb World and the Dynasty, Gun’um had never asked for anything. His focus had always been on the progression of the Dynasty, the acquisition of blood, and the collection of generators. The creature knew this, of course, yet it cared not, insisting that great works must be rewarded. With a casual wave, it spoke of blessings to come, claiming that the Changer of Ways blessings would flow to the children until the Daemon Prince’s debt was repaid.
Then, the flames came.
The fire did not burn their ships, their warriors, or their Lord. Instead, it crawled over them, alive and taunting, turning the once-perfect logic of their systems into a tangled paradox. Blackstone, the foundation of their anti-warp technology, twisted and broke impossibly in its presence. Hearts pulled from their enemies disintegrated into ash before being processed, burning in the hands of those who would create with them. Blood generators sputtered and died. The lifeblood of the Hemocan Dynasty, literal and figurative, was being stolen by the flames.
His ships, warriors, and very essence were engulfed in flames. Yet, the fire did not harm them. The flames crawled across the deck, writhing and whispering with incomprehensible voices. The light blazed, but the heat left no trace. It was as if the sunlight had kissed the Necron armor for the first time, illuminating everything around them while doing nothing. With a quiet, mocking laugh, the entity vanished, dissolving into a kaleidoscopic whirl of color—taking the entire fleet with it and transporting them to a new system: Kessandras.
The Gift of the Burning Harvest
Upon their arrival, the battle had already begun. Most fleets avoided those ships that burned like stars in the vacuum of space, but these Necron warships were different. Flames, like those of a sun god, licked their hulls, but these flames were not magic nor some trick of the eye caused by Psyomancers. They had been blessed, though, by what no one could understand, not even the afflicted. This paradox tore at the logical circuits of the Necrons, who struggled to comprehend how a warp entity they had fought so fiercely against could affect their very existence.
As the legions began to clash with new enemies on planet after planet, they found their own science, once the foundation of their entire existence, now failing them. The generators they harvested from their new enemies disintegrated in their hands, turning to ash as they touched the corpses of their enemies. The situation was a curse, not a blessing. They had begun to decay. Without their technology to revive their fallen, the Necron legions deteriorated. The blood, once infused with power, was gone—replaced by fire and death. The Destroyer virus began to creep back; the Flayer curse flared once more. The science that had elevated them to their current state had failed, leaving them to fight battles that drained them rather than empowered them. The Necrons began to fall apart.
The curse only deepened due to unforeseen side effects of their technology failing them. The Necron warriors were once efficient, unyielding killers, but now they faltered. Flayed Ones emerged where perfectly functional Immortals should have stood. The Destroyer curse spread like a plague, their ranks fracturing under the weight of desperation.
And yet, the flames did not harm them. They merely lingered, a cruel mockery of life. Even as the Hemocan warships entered battle, the fire danced across their hulls, casting their fleet in an eerie, hellish glow. Enemies hesitated, mistaking them for some Chaos-aligned monstrosity. Some even hailed them as allies, praising a god the Hemocan neither knew nor wanted.
Gun’um’s fury boiled. We kill our gods. We enslave our gods. We do not serve them.
A Deadly Bargain
The Daemon reappeared on a cursed moon deep within the system. Gun’um decided to confront it directly, taking a ship down to illuminate a lifeless crater; he demanded an explanation.
Why curse us?
The Daemon laughed, its voice grinding metal. You saved me. You freed me. You earned this blessing.
Gun’um snarled. Take it back.
The Daemon leaned closer, its smile full of fanged malice. Its face shifted from a human mouth to that of some bird. There is no going backward, Psychomancer. But perhaps… there is a way forward. Serve us in this war. Help us resolve this conflict, and maybe you will find release.
Gun’um said nothing. His response came in the form of a Tesseract Ark’s volley, obliterating a Xeno stronghold on the moon below. The Daemon only smiled, vanishing into a kaleidoscope of flame and color.
The Path of Blackstone
Returning to his flagship, Gun’um addressed his closest ally, the begrudging Technomancer E’cyl.
“We will harvest Blackstone: every vein, every shard, every fragment. Reinforce the ships. Reinforce the warriors. Reinforce me. This gift will not dictate our path.”
He turned back to the glowing battlefield visible through the viewport. The Hemocan Dynasty had been brought to the brink, but desperation was the mother of invention. If blood were no longer their salvation, then Blackstone would be.
As the fleet prepared for their next assault, the flames still danced; their silent mockery reminded them of the cost of good deeds done from a place of ignorance. Gun’um was unfazed. He was not a servant of Chaos. He was a Necron, and his Dynasty would endure.
The War Ahead
The Kessandras system looms as a new theater of war. The Hemocan Dynasty is beset on all sides: cursed by flames they do not understand, hunted by enemies they cannot easily defeat, and forced to face the grim realities of their fragile empire.
Gun’um’s experiments are far from over. But as the first battles echo across the void, one thing is clear: the Hemocan Dynasty will fight. If they cannot master the gift, they will break it no matter the cost.
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