The deafening explosion shook the tomb. Falling debris and dust rained from above, but Luka wasn't worried about a collapse—he feared Orvillea's recklessness would awaken more Necrons.
The tomb's full scale remained unknown, but the stasis chamber alone held fifty Necron Warriors. Luka knew their small team couldn't handle them. The Necrons' gauss weapons and regenerating living metal bodies outmatched his Battle Sisters. A direct fight meant annihilation.
Though they'd destroyed two Canoptek Spyders, Luka urged Orvillea, "Pack what's critical. We're leaving!"
Their actions hadn't yet roused the tomb's Necrons, but Luka wanted to avoid tempting fate. "No! I need more time!" Orvillea wailed, sprawled on the floor, mesmerized by the stasis chamber's intricate machinery, trying to unravel its sixty-million-year operation.
Luka didn't indulge her. "If you don't move, I'll leave you," he said coldly, signaling the Battle Sisters to prepare for withdrawal.
"One hour! My mining servitors are coming—they'll carry more!" Orvillea, desperate, had hijacked the surface's mining servitors via virus and command, ordering them to haul everything possible, regardless of suitability.
"No hour. Five minutes, max," Luka pressed, scanning the passages for Necron threats.
"Five minutes? I need fifty to empty this!" Orvillea bargained, her mechanical arms frantically dismantling key components.
Luka didn't budge. "We must go. That explosion likely triggered the tomb's defenses. I won't be buried by endless machines!"
"No! Thirty minutes, and I can dismantle the entire chamber! This stasis tech could sustain a Forge World!" Orvillea pleaded, her pride as a Sage gone. To her, the tomb was a treasure vault, and she was an adventurer told to take just one coin. This chamber alone could fuel a century of research, earning her the title of Archmagos, a chance to return to her Forge World and exact revenge on the Fabricator who exiled her.
"No half-hour. The runes on the walls are glowing—defenses are active. We leave now, or we die!" Luka grabbed her arm to pull her away. Waiting for a tech-priest to abandon alien tech was futile.
Her summoned servitors arrived, wielding mining tools to cut and dismantle the chamber, intent on taking it all. Their presence made dragging Orvillea away impossible.
Luka compromised. "Sage, fifteen minutes to grab what's vital. We can't take everything. Face reality!"
"Twenty minutes! My final line!" Orvillea shouted, then promised, "Secure me twenty, and I'll equip an Astra Militarum light infantry regiment!"
"One thousand Battle Sister kits!" Luka countered.
"Deal!" Orvillea agreed instantly.
Luka gritted his teeth—his price was too low. Still, a thousand kits made the trip worthwhile. "Twenty minutes, not a second more. Your combat servitors help defend!"
He split his Battle Sisters into two five-woman teams, guarding both passage ends. Orvillea, focused, sent her combat servitors to Luka's command while her mining servitors hauled relics.
Twenty minutes passed in a flash. The tomb's defenses reacted. Three Canoptek Wraiths ambushed, phasing through walls. One Battle Sister died instantly, and Orvillea's combat servitors were obliterated. The Wraiths' phase-shifting attacks were impossible to predict.
Luka narrowly dodged a transdimensional beamer, saved by his Rosarius shield. He severed one Wraith's tail with his sword and blasted another's head with his plasma pistol. Orvillea, finishing her work, shot the third Wraith dead in the wall.
As the tailless Wraith was pulped by bolter fire, Luka turned to Orvillea. "You'd better be ready!"
"I am," she replied, eyeing the wrecked Wraiths. "But we're taking these constructs."
(Chapter End)