Curling threads of dimensional bleed twisted out of the tesseract labyrinth, its prismatic light difficult to look upon.
And out of it stepped Trazyn the Infinite, tile cloak shifting and clicking as he marched from the rift.
Followed by another Trazyn. And another. Rank upon rank of overlords wielding warscythes, their hooked blades shouldered like warriors of old on the campaign road. They formed two lines, heedless of the battle raging behind them where necron tore at necron.
‘I have most certainly had this nightmare before,’ said Orikan, two fingers hooking a unit glyph on his phos-tablet and dragging them into the combat. ‘Repeatedly.’
‘Thought this could be dangerous and I might need a surrogate,’ said Trazyn. ‘Brought ten instead. Pre-formatted lychguard, so there’s no time lost in structural reconfiguring. Better to be over-prepared, eh?’
‘Three of you,’ he snapped. ‘Secure Master Orikan. The rest disperse to the battlefront. I want the option of jumping wherever it’s needed.’
‘You are, as they say, going in?’
‘Well your hands are a bit full playing nemesor, are they not? I’ll leave a sliver of consciousness here to deploy the labyrinths in case we need to plug the line and launch a counter-attack if we’re able. Deploy them too soon, and the Deceiver may turn them as well – we should destroy those smaller shards first.’ He tapped a tattoo on the haft of his obliterator. ‘Conventional weapons are not working. Perhaps an unconventional one would make a dent.’
‘Trazyn,’ said Orikan, faltered as he turned away to run a re-ranking program on a unit of decimated Immortals. ‘Fair stars.’
And with a rush of distortion, Trazyn’s consciousness streamed through the aether and towards the fighting.

The Infinite and the Divine