"If the Old Ones' psychic might was a poem that rewrote reality, then Necron technology is the verdict that denies it."
The narrator's voice turned cold, like metal grinding on metal.
On-screen, a human squad advanced through the ruins. Opposite them, in the ashen haze, two ghost-green fires ignited.
Moments later, hundreds followed.
There were no roars, no battle-cries, not even footsteps.
The metal skeletons moved by anti-grav or precision hydraulic silence—an advancing, voiceless wall of steel pressing toward the living.
"Gauss Weapon." It's a misnomer humanity clings to; the name has nothing to do with an archaic magnetic unit. This is profane tech that makes physics itself scream.
The camera zooms on a warrior's long-gun—the Gauss Flayer.
No solid round lies within the barrel, only a spinning, restless core of green energy.
Zzzt. A beam—dim, almost dull—slashes the air.
It strikes a fully armored soldier.
A bolter would leave a crater.
But what the green light does makes every viewer's scalp crawl.
No explosion, no heat.
The trooper's impenetrable ceramite, and the flesh, bone, organs beneath, unravel in an instant—like a sand-castle blasted by wind.
It doesn't destroy; it disassembles.
The gauss beam severs the strong force between nucleus and electron at a unique frequency, denying matter its cohesion on the molecular level.
In one second the audience watches the soldier's body dissolve into a drifting, shimmering mist of atoms.
To the Necrons, "armor" and "flesh" are indistinguishable.
On the atomic plane, Terminator plate and tissue paper are one and the same.
Hit equals annihilation.
The scene shifts—to a grander battlefield.
A titanic black pyramid descends from the sky.
Its apex crystal pulses, unleashing a torrent dubbed the "particle whip."
A heavy battle-tank is struck.
In that instant dozens of tons of steel vanish like pencil marks erased, leaving only a mirror-smooth cut in the earth.
A supreme exploitation of physical law—and utter contempt for life.
Not every Necron is a cold machine.
Some things broke long ago—perhaps during their long sleep, or even earlier, at the climax of the War in Heaven.
They are the Star God known as the Flayer.
When the Silent King ordered this C'tan's execution, it did not shatter like the others.
It was obliterated outright.
Yet with its last breath the god of ruin and hunger spat an incurable curse upon its betrayers.
On-screen appear twisted Necrons.
Gone are the perfect ranks and gauss rifles.
They lope on all fours, fingers lengthened into dripping, scalpel-sharp flensing claws.
Worst of all, their cold metal frames are draped with rotting flesh, rags—and fresh, still-bleeding human skins.
"Thus I curse you. You stripped me of my flesh; so shall you forever hunger for it."
"You will starve yet never eat. You will freeze, and only blood will grant a fleeting, false warmth."
Thus were born the The Flayer.
They carry a maddening plague—the Flayer Virus.
It spreads through Necron stasis networks, leaping dimensions to corrupt once-noble warriors.
A Flayed One tackles an Imperial Guardsman.
Instead of killing, it deftly flays the soldier's face with surgical precision.
Then it presses the dripping mask over its own sensor-grilled skull.
A satisfied hiss leaks out like air from a broken bellows.
They don't seek slaughter; they seek to feel alive.
They remember breath, warmth, heartbeat. Now only cold metal remains.
So they hunt organics, skin their prey, and drape the hides over themselves, pretending they still possess warmth and life.
They shove meat into sealed metal jaws, letting putrid blood run down their chassis in mockery of eating.
They hail from a pocket-realm—the Flayer's Lair—outside normal space.
Whenever battlefields overflow with blood and Death, they scent it, tear reality's veil, and join the feast.
Marvel Universe.
"Jarvis, log the decay cycle of that frequency."
Tony's voice is ice-calm; he swipes equations into the air.
"Tony?"
Steve Rogers stared at him, brow furrowed. "What are you doing? That thing... that's Carnage."
"That's physics, Captain."
Without looking back, Tony's fingers flew across the controls. "Sever the strong nuclear force inside the atom. It sounds like magic, but once you understand their power-output logic... it's just an engineering problem."
He spun around sharply, facing the Avengers, a wild confidence on his face.
"Give me enough time—maybe three months, maybe six. As long as I've got enough palladium or the new element, I can build that gun too. I can let Jarvis control a steel Legion and fire that green beam."
"You're saying... you can replicate it?"
Dr. Banner pulled off his glasses, disbelief written all over his face.
"I can. Technically there's no insurmountable barrier."
Tony nodded, but then the fervor in his eyes cooled, replaced by a deep, almost fearful clarity.
He raised his hand and shut down Jarvis's simulation interface, deleting the half-finished weapon blueprint for good.
"But I will never do it."
"Why?"
Thor asked, puzzled. "If we had a weapon like that, enemies on Thanos's level..."
"Because that's not war, Thor."
Tony pointed at the emotionless Necrons on the screen. "Conventional war is for conquest, to force surrender, or to defend. Even a nuke leaves rubble and radiation."
"But this Gauss Weapon... it's 'erasure'. It takes no prisoners, leaves no corpses, not even a trace of 'ever having existed'. Once we introduce this into conventional war, the nature of war changes."
Tony's voice dropped.
"It means 'fight to the Death'. Unless you tear the enemy down to atoms, the battle won't stop. Humanity—or any sentient being—can't survive war at that intensity."
He looked at the tireless metal skeletons and gave a self-mocking smile.
"Only these soulless tin-men who don't care about life or Death deserve such weapons. Us? We'll stick to gunpowder and lasers. At least then we still feel human."
Three-Body World
The physicist Ding Yi stared at the screen, hands trembling—not from fear, but from the shock of seeing physics' Holy Grail casually kicked aside.
"The strong nuclear force..."
Ding Yi muttered hoarsely.
"It's the mightiest force in the Universe. It locks protons and neutrons together, forms atomic nuclei, forms the solid World we see."
He looked at Luo Ji and Shi Qiang beside him, gesticulating almost hysterically.
"Do you understand what this means? To break that force we need stellar-core levels of energy, or a particle collider the size of Geneva! That's macro-scale engineering!"
Ding Yi pointed at the unassuming spear in the Necron warrior's hand on the screen.
"But these skeletons... they've compressed star-level energies into a single infantry rifle? They've made breaking the Universe's strongest force a mass-produced assembly-line item?!"
"That's scarier than the Sophon."
"Is this the war of a god-level civilization?"
Luo Ji sighed. "To them, the physical laws we exhaust ourselves to understand are nothing more than bullets in a rifle."
Super Gene Universe
Angel Yan watched those human-fleshed, frantic metal skeletons. The data analyzer didn't show a biological virus but something far stranger.
"This is impossible..." Yan's brows knitted. "The Necrons have finished biotransference; they're pure machine and energy. They have no DNA, no cells, not even a nervous system."
"What kind of 'virus' can infect a bunch of machines and give them an organic urge like 'hunger'?"
"It's a meme."
The voice of Heavenly King Hexi sounded.
As the Universe's top scholar, she had seen the nature of this curse.
"This isn't a biological virus, nor a computer virus. It's a... conceptual virus."
Hexi's fingers tapped the air, parsing the information stream on the screen.
"The dead C'tan didn't curse the Necrons' bodies; it cursed their 'base code'."
"Deep in their consciousness code it implanted an undeletable error: 'Because I live, I must eat'."
"Even a race as mighty as the Necrons, able to rewrite physical laws, still can't resist this meme infection."
Holy Keisha nodded slightly, her gaze profound.
"Because as long as they keep even a shred of'self-awareness', that meme will cling like gangrene."
"They can never be free unless they wipe themselves into mindless husks."
"This attack method..."
Morgana cut in over Demon Wings' comm, unusually devoid of banter.
"It's even more disgusting than the Void Engine that psycho Karl studies. It rewrites your cognitive logic so you think wearing rotting flesh is normal."
"This is the true means of god-war."
Hexi concluded. "It doesn't destroy your body; it twists your definition. It proves that in that Universe the boundary between 'consciousness' and 'reality' is terrifyingly blurred—and dangerous."