I want to put four of my favourite DoW factions in the world of Remnant without them tearing their way into an low-level death world because of their ordnance OP-ness... So this happened.

I started this after an unhealthy number of hours playing Dawn of War: Soulstorm, so forewarning: the whole of my knowledge about 40k stuff only come from the Wiki and the games. No idea about information grabbed from novels and codex.

Anyway, lets start with the first character for the first race!

RWBY and Warhammer 40k belongs to Rooster Teeth and Games Workshop respectively.

Chapter 1 - On Verdant Wings of Silver

For countless aeons he have watched, his ever-flowing body of liquid metal never rusting as the ages consumed and gave birth into countless prospective civilizations.

For uncounted millions of years he searched, accompanying the Silent King's legion of enforcers, arming them with his machinations to further fuel his self-imposed directive.

And even after a thousand failures he continued his research, long forgotten desperation burrowed on countless programs shackling his once living intent to escape the grasp of the machine-curse.

But still he continued, even as his first body corroded under the perpetual pressure of time. Even as he shunted his failing programs into a thousand semi-liquid necrodermis of his own construct, further throwing him away from the now non-existing self he desperately tried to cling on.

He continued, even as he lost the undying imitation of his once proud form as one by one, his self-possessed legion of flowing semi-liquid bodies that now harbored his long empty consciousness started breaking under the flames of an eternal war, his consciousness further falling and breaking on every single event that one of his now forgotten creations fell.

He still stood, proud as ever.

Even as the reckless children of the ancient enemy find another complex spider web where they can cut him from his long-desired price.

Even as the hounds of the golden carcass continued their hopeless crusade, slowly burning themselves towards their delusion of unopposed dominion over the stars.

Even as the four anathemas borne from the rotting sins of a million fallen empires continued on their schemes, hidden behind veils unseen but never unnoticed.

He still never falters, his eternal form tethered into reality under the curse of undeath.

But now, as he desperately try to rally his remaining unturned forces in the dead expanse of another failed experimental world, almost every single one of his liquid necrodermis bodies already hunted and destroyed by the compromised necron legion, led by a long forgotten god-shard who broke its chain during the final battle against another Imperial crusade. He knew that maybe this time, there would no longer be another chance for him.

Another shattered memory-container, turned to dust under the constant fire of hundreds of searing gauss energy, all of them adjusted by him using his own two hands. Destroyed along with it are his countless schematics for god-engines with the might to conquer whole continents.

He felt another one of his body, this one residing inside a monolith, lost its connection to his whole. The monolith it is residing on imploding and crushing itself even with its almost indestructible armour as its eternity gate suffered an unknown catastrophic failure. More ancient, millennium worth data burned out of existence.

And as the last one of his back-up self-container flickered out of his awareness, the proud necron cryptek of the Ogdobekh dynasty learned that even eternity can end, and that everything he have built for aeons is falling apart and being torn by the moment.

And now, with his ocular sensors looking directly at the perpetual, predatory smile of the Deceiver shard he have foolishly unleashed due to a miscalculation, Horthep the Never-ending, Epithet of Oblivion and Bearer of a Thousand Curse, have known one true absolute.

That this time, he has failed.

So, with a silent curse born from an eternity of undeath, and a pang of sorrow that surprised his ancient, cold calculating personality-program, Hor'thep unleashed his one last gift for his departure.

With a single mental command, the hard-pressed containment field disintegrated, the Aeonic Orb's reactor quickly engulfing the dying world of Antaepol within its unending flame, the now freed star unleashed its all-consuming wrath to destroy the system along with the howling shard of the once-messenger god.

Hor'thep felt genuine joy and sorrow at the first time since the affliction.

Now, if only he knew that at his death, he can relive even a fraction of the feeling of being mortal again. He would embrace eternal silence over and over and over again. It is a payment sufficient enough for his eternity of dulled suffering.

But regret still filled him. Even as his programs started to shut-down into the void of non-existence. No longer to grasp and feel the small spark of true emotions he had long desired.

If only if he can relive the feeling longer.

"Sir, you need to see this."

General Ironwood sighed, pinching his forehead as another headache threaten to bloom from the long, exhausting day of trying to find a way to finish his current project. He dropped the papers he is currently holding to the trash can under his table, straightening his back before relaxing in his leather chair and signalling for the one who called him to come in.

Another dead end, more of a baseless hypothesis than a solid theory on itself. Another one in a long string of failure.

A forgettable looking man in a lab coat opened the door to his temporary office, reading something from a paper with a small frown. Behind him on the distance, several other people wearing the same white laboratory equipment operate numerous machines of different uses, from the holographic computers displaying raw data to large metallic tubes of different colors.

Further back is the centerpiece of the huge room; a glass pod filled with some kind of green liquid, hundreds of hoses coiled like snakes surrounding it in the outside. In its inside floats a still body of what looks like a comatose human girl, her long orange hair being displaced by the unknown liquid.

Well, almost a human girl, as her naked form display her too smooth, featureless form. More of a highly detailed mannequin than a real body, missing all the visible biological features a normal human should have. Dividing lines mark the parts where joints are supposed to be while several unpowered led lights and connectors dotting her frame.

Too contradictory with her upper body neck-up, which is eerily too detailed, too human. Her wrinkled face unmoving, dark-green eyes staring into nothing, unblinking. It being attached to an obvious artificial body rings the uncanny valley effect to a war veteran in Ironwood.

State-of-the-art Atlesian synth-screen, electronic devices far ahead of their time, and billions of Lien. All used to create and shape a body of a teenage girl for some reason unknown to him. Science on its finest.

And still they can't seem to find out a way to pull this off.

Ironwood managed to quell his building irritation.

Too many people like to underestimate him, mistaking his efficient militaristic brutality as barbaric. Not even thinking for a second that maybe, just maybe, his success both in the battlefield and the insidious politics of Atlesian hierarchy requires for him to be a brilliant thinker.

This is not the case for his current project. As the higher-ups granted him the honor of leading a top-secret Atlesian research. Showing how somewhere in the higher hierarchy of Atlas politics, they knew and respect his intelligence as much as his strength.

But maybe they overestimated his capability too much.

Now, Ironwood might be an intelligent person, albeit one not to flaunt it to everyone he know. That's why right now he is leading a team of the best Atlesian researchers, and not sitting in the huge halls of the Atlas High Command while bickering with other generals and fleet admirals about anti-grimm full scale mobilization or whatever new idea come from their warmongering tongues.

That's also why Ironwood knows the difference of when things are hard to pull, and when things are outright impossible to happen.

And creating an artificial life is one of the latter.

So with another defeated sigh, Ironwood looked back at the man who called him at the first place, said man stiffening as he put all his attention to him. After several seconds of silence, the still unnamed researcher managed to regain his bearing, pulling a small collection of papers from the folder on his hand, labelled 'proposed processing cores'.

"Sir, while our researchers are doing their best in trying to formulate and design an efficient way of housing a huge processing core, one portable enough to fit inside the head-"

"Cut to the main part. I already know of that." Ironwood interrupted. He might have acted rudely, but each second the man recites the basics for a thousand times is time not being used efficiently.

Especially if his warnings are true.

"Umm." The man hesitated, likely preparing to say something he himself didn't believe. "We now have an authorization for a legitimate test-run for a theoretically working processing core, I think."

I think?

"So?"

The guy has a questioning look as he look at Ironwood. "Pardon Sir?"

"So, what's the problem?" Ironwood grabbed the papers that the man is gripping, skimming the first several sentences. "I know that if you found a way out of our current problems, or even just another step, you and the others would be buzzing in excitement."

He put down the papers inside his table's cabinet, making a mental note to read the whole thing later. He looked the researcher at the eyes.

"You're not doing that right now. So what's the problem?"

The man flinched, before relaxing to a more formal posture. "The thing is, our guys at another Atlesian research branch won that race for us. We got blindsided, to say at least."

Ironwood is surprised, barely managing to not show the emotion on his face. After all, it is unheard, and totally humiliating, for the Atlas Computer Division to be defeated on their own field of AI engineering.

"What research division? Robotics?" Then it would make some sense. They are the other branch that have a sufficient knowledge of digital programming. The only reason Robotics didn't get the project is because they are more knowledgeable about the straightforward working of a non-living program, not the delicate web of artificial human emotion.

The researcher paused, but any hesitation on his part was lost when Ironwood glared at him. "No Sir".

"Probably Biochemistry then. As unlikely as they are, their research on neuro-"

"Archaeology sir." The researcher hastily said.

This time, General Ironwood is not able to hide his shock.

"They unearthed a supposed artefact of an unknown material. The only thing they are certain about is it is not a natural substance, and it is processing unit of great power." The researcher continued, ignoring the general's expression.

"And how do they discover that?" The researcher opened his mouth to answer, before closing it and started the motion to start reading his own copy of the report.

Ironwood sighed, before standing from his chair and walking towards the exit of the room. "Never mind then, we'll just know it when we got there ourselves."

On the next few weeks after the discovery of the power source, General Ironwood's boredom and irritation slowly left him. No longer he need to fill-out another formal declaration that 'no, that would not work' whenever another aspiring individual or team managed to theory-craft their way into nonsensical hypotheses. No longer has he needed to explain to the constantly angry and judging council on how the on-going research hit another roadblock.

He is thankful for that, as boredom and irritation can only lead you nowhere.

Now it is replaced by a mounting sense of dread and anxiety.

He looked back into the cause of his conflicting emotions. An oddly smooth ball of semi-liquid metal of unknown composition, held together into a spherical form by forces unknown. After all, scans indicated that the ball is just that, a ball. No internal hardware, no external gravity tether, and no hidden source of energy that would make the anomaly of it retaining its shape even in a liquid state make sense.

Oh, and it is also perpetually surrounded by a halo of sickly green light that have no visible light source. But most analysis can't detect what the green light is all about, only that it comes directly from the core of the substance. How the light penetrated a non-transparent semi-solid object is just another case of 'doesn't make sense' that is pretty normal for the reality defying object.

Strangest though, and the reason it is being considered as a power source by the high command instead of being immediately transferred to the higher branches of research, is it's tendency to liquidate and coil itself towards computer operated hardware.

One day before Ironwood arrived at the dig site, he was notified that the orb lashed out towards the mine's computer assisted scanning apparatus, destroying the hardware in a flood of data overload that completely wiped out the computer. The monitors documented to have displayed several unknown sigils before detonating in a small, bright-green lightning storm that permanently fried all the equipment linked to the machinery.

On the day he arrived it moved again, hastily floating and engulfing its way towards one of the accompanying atlesian knight.

It is a weird experience for Ironwood. Seeing one of the knights turning into a weird zombie robot with its wires replaced by some kind of liquid material that ignore the conservation of mass, while it's whole body continued glowing green as its alloy slowly give up on itself, until it is no longer a humanoid shaped drone construct.

To say the least, the supposed 'power source' turned the knight into an unstable blob of energy that detonated with the energy of a natural lightning multiplied by a millionth.

How the science team managed to scan that, or even manage to pull an energy scanner at that moment, is a mystery Ironwood would not ask them about.

So now, back to the present, the mounting dread that something is wrong about the orb is steadily building inside Ironwood, seeing it too near to their almost complete artificial human, its tendrils lashing out and denting a dividing blast door that is supposed to hold an on-site implosion.

"Releasing the Yggdrasil" The speakers above the test site boomed, breaking the perpetual silence of everyone observing above the test site from between a glass window able to hold against a stampede of a dozen goliaths.

The pneumatic hiss of depressurization startled Ironwood, followed by the sound of liquid flooding the empty room below them before the drainage system kicked in, only leaving several small pool of the green liquid on the smooth tiles of the room.

On the now open pod stood the girl, her- no, its lifeless eyes unmoving as it stood still. It still looked the same, except that the scientist have also put a synthetic skin all around it's once porcelain frame, the color mixing with the skin on its head.

It lays there for another minute, with the scientists besides Ironwood scanning and double-checking the data feed from the doll, ensuring that everything would went according to plan. One wrong move, and not only they would completely ruin everything they have done before.

No, one wrong move and they would explode along with the whole laboratory. If the energy released by a mere atlesian knight is an indication.

So Ironwood wait, supressing his anxiety and hoping that he would exit the research station without any missing body part of his, even the prosthetic ones.

But still, the mounting dread is not directed on his own.

He looked back down, viewing the doll looking like an innocent little girl. Unaware that she would be used to gather data on a piece of science defying all kind of logic. All for the sake of survival.

Ironwood gritted his teeth. He should not be sympathizing with a soulless machine, she- no, IT is not alive in any sense. Created, not born, to be a weapon for their incoming war.

So why can't he crush the feeling of dread towards the machine?

He is momentarily thrown out of his introspection as the blast door opened, commanded by one of the scientist that he probably didn't hear.

Another scientist shouted behind him, something about unauthorized access and command override.

The base alarm went off, the scientists in the control room hastily scrambling either to evacuate towards the backdoor or to try and override the command at the now opening blast door.

"Close the door! The scanner's are not hooked yet, we would lost all data if that blob manage to hook itself at the Yggdrasil!"

"I can't. We already have lost control of the main systems. The whole base have automatically conducted a total lockdown."

"Fuck! We're loosing all the data. This can't be happening!"

The researchers continued to drone on and on, but General Ironwood didn't listen. He just continued observing the room below him, the floating blob of liquid metal now slowly hovering towards the still unmoving redhead.

Unmoving, until her dull green eyes looked unblinking directly into the orb, which doesn't make sense due to the body being unpowered right now.

Its only a fraction of a second, but still Ironwood saw.

All before the now familiar blinding green light engulfed all of his senses.

'Well, 'advance drone my ass'. She's alive afterall'

Awareness flickered into existence, scattered and void of everything.

Who am I?

Programs flared to life, searching and scrying for any salvageable data inside the inactive necrodermis shell. Pieces of the puzzle continued to arrange themselves, countless weight of data being built-up as the memory cell started to gain energy from the core.

Rebooting necron process drive… Complete. Scanning for dormant core… Complete. Initiating phase-1 resurrection protocol, please stand by.
I'm alive?

A wave of output data scattered towards the external sensors of the shell, finding little to no resistance as quantum entanglement allowed them to freely move even when within the non-conducting form of liquefied necrodermis. But still the data bounced back, finding no necron external sensors to gain feedback from.

Error, cannot find external data ports… Verdict; necrodermis shell heavily damaged, activating Phylactery's emergency repair protocol.

That should have worked, the data even following a rough humanoid shaped outline before bouncing back. Finding no suitable necron sensor port doesn't make any logical sense.

Starting necrodermis regeneration... Error, unable to send data to the Phylactery. Verdict-

The mind felt frustration.

Error. Unidentified process detected... Shutting down data flow... Initiating hostile data scan.

Every single one of the process stopped.

Unidentified process entry point detected... Initiating purge.
I can think?

Another burst of data, now aimed towards scanning the inside of the core for impurities and logic plagues. Countless tendrils of combat programs initiated their dive, borrowing deep into the soul-core to find-

The mind felt shock.

Self-analysis complete, unidentified process detected... Initiating purge... Error, cannot purge, elimination programs cannot interact with unidentified process... Verdict; starting logic path for other solutions.
Wait, that's what my soul looks like?

Again, every single one of the process stopped.

Cannot find logic path for another solution... Emergency activation of master program authorized... Activating master program.

Another burst of data, now aimed not at the outside or the inside, but done to awaken most of the secondary function of the shell. Memory built from a million years of vigil, personality imitated from once-remembered form before the curse, everything flared up.

Except the external sensors.

I have returned from the dead…. How?
Wait, who are you?

…Oh, a curiosity… I am ME, and you are but a small fleck that dared enter my own will, intruder.
What, but this is my body!

The mind felt frustration.

You're illogical blabbering right now should have already earned you my wrath. But rejoice, for I am quite satisfied at my current… non-terminated form
Umm. Hello, mister voice sir? Pardon me, but who are you?

The data tendrils started to make sense of the foreign data, reaching a logical solution as the master program diverted its whole will into exchanging thought data with the unidentified process. It lashed out again, but now it is not aimed to purge the process, but mend it with the whole. After all, logic dictated that if it is something that can't be purged with the unstoppable might of necron engineering.

A brave one aren't you… As amusing as your mental intrusion and obvious information gathering attempt is, I shall bestow you my name.
Oh, pardon. I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is-

The foreign program flowed and mended with the whole, the newest, but still complete infant mental processing program bursting to the data collective's understanding. Memory bank empty but grand, personality core imitating those of an imperial human's female young, and hundreds of thousand of advanced processing that gave the program... a life.

Almost the whole of the necron's automatic process froze. All but the master program, too busy exchanging data feed with the newest part of the whole.

Under the undying will of the Obdobekh dynasty's Black Star, I have burned and shackled demigods and mortals alike. With my own two hands, I have forced reality to tear itself asunder. And as to bear witness to my quest for the knowledge of life, I have commanded uncountable legions of immortal warriors that would burn the very stars in my command.

A data feed from the master program, forcing one of the once frozen protocols to awaken and play the recorded sound of a lightning arc firing.

The logic data felt something outside of their coding. Something... foreign.

The necron's whole felt an undentified positive data to the master program's theatrics.

I am Hor'thep the Never-ending, Epithet of Oblivion and Bearer of a Thousand Curses! Now, I command you to give me your name, such honor is bestowed to the whelp who have managed to intrude in my impenetrable mental landscape.

Ignoring the discussion between the two programs, the autonomous part of the necron process started to reboot their function. Curious as they may be, the anomaly can wait.

A flood of the reanimation protocol's intrusive data forcefully shoved itself into every single corner of the necrodermis, the now reasoning part of the whole joining the master program in doing its illogical data looping of garbage files that is too foreign to the other processes. Each of the data activated everything they touched, coiling and commanding and making dormant subroutines to rise up. Even redundant processes such as the failed defense system against the collector-king of Solemnace, or even the experimental log of trying to control a feral bio form, both proving to be a fruitless impossible hypothesis.

Umm, thanks, sir. But I don't still have a name.

The necron cryptek's whole woke up.

And this is actually my 'mental landscape', as odd as your term for my mind is.

Well, almost the whole, except the external sensors.

Then the mind felt another anomalous response, something that it will someday know as 'irritation'.

...Pardon?

Midway while writing this thing, I found out that it is slowly turning into semi-crack territory... well, I don't mind really, I'll just go with the flow wherever this stuff go.

Necrons are actually killer robot zombie with feelings. I love them and their creepy green glowing mastery over reality.

Anyway, like my other written story. This one would not be updating that much, since I would be starting my first ever job.

And lastly, thanks for reading! Feel free to review and criticize, I can take it like a necron overlord taking a direct hit from a shadowsword's volcano cannon. (Mainly, i'll die, but would slowly regenerate... hopefully.)