“Wake up, good sir knight.”

The voice pounds through your skull like the beating of a drum, followed by the familiar wash of harsh chemical stimulants, corroding your veins.

Oh, you have a skull? And veins, too? How nostalgic.

“Wake up, sir. Please.” The voice pleads, and despite weakness that pervades your body, another wash of stimulants ensures that your eyes can part enough to see. A brief glimpse of a world aflame forced them closed again.

“-ot working. It’s not finish-” A second voice, low like a whisper and muffled as though underwater, reaches your ears, rather than clawing its way out from inside your mind.

“-ore time, I would make us-” The first voice replies, now muffled too. Wonderful. You could almost drift back to sleep, back to the void, but you were awake now, in mind if not in body. This <span class="mu-i">flesh</span> is weak, and while it might not be ready, some ancient part of your mind bays for blood, chafes in this peace. Warlust will do what the stimulants cannot. Only a few moments now, you know, and sleep will be the last thing on your mind.

“Good sir, you have slept for some time. Centuries, I should imagine, but your services are required once more. Your engram…” A pause, and the silence that stretches between words, the echo rattles around your skull. You can taste the desperation on each syllable. It was how you knew you were being called to battle, though they danced around the subject. “Your engram was lost, but it has been found again. Please, awaken.”

Lazily, you part your eyes again, and this time the colours are muted. The world, tinted rose pink by the fluid that surrounds you. Blood-tinged gel fills your mouth and lungs, obscuring your view of the world outside the tank. Four figures stand before your sarcophagus, and as your gaze passes over them, all but one kneel. It is the last that speaks - directly into your mind. Your lord? No. A vassal, perhaps, albeit one highly positioned enough to have no need to concern themselves with such petty formalities.

“Thank you, sir knight. I apologise for the rude awakening, but time is not our ally this day. Were it my decision, I- No, there is no time.” Your eyes fall on them, the one that you think is speaking. A woman? They are tall, but their frame is thin, their features severe. “You must prepare for decanting at once. You are needed, sir knight.”

You groan, but the sound doesn’t leave your lips. This was always a painful experience, least of all with an unsuitable host. It was not the first time you had been born under unpleasant circumstances, for you are an <span class="mu-s">Engram Knight</span>, a warrior-thoughtform, the most terrible of adversaries.

A blackened, bitter soul, unshackled from flesh and blood, yet chained to violence and war.

You have killed before, will kill again, and shall never die.

You are death, and you have a name.