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Rapecrons were introduced during a very interesting session of writefagging. Essentially, the Necrons captured a human woman, and they decided to "rape" her with metal probes, conveniently located between their legs. After the deed was done, they assessed that she was fit to become a pariah and was sent off for processing.

Rapecron lords prioritize the capture of humans bearing the pariah gene, which is rumored to be the work of the Deceiver himself. Using these humans, they intend to increase the size of their army and use their abilities to help destroy the influence of the warp.

Small Book.pngThe following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.


"Hold your positions! Hold your ground you worthless dogs!" Commissar Varnus's screams echoed over the hiss of the abominations' hideous weaponry, even as he fired his bolt pistol at the advancing horrors. The Guardsmen did not heed his cries, however, and fell back from the line, as the flesh was vaporized from their bones. Blackened skeletons littered the line, soldiers breaking and fleeing in absolute terror as the metal monsters overran them.

Trooper Maira Caril did not break, but not because she was inspired by the Commissar. She stood in stark terror, watching the silent advance of the Necron army, the xenos machines casually ripping through man and blessed machine with contemptuous ease. Her feet would not answer her, and she was rooted to the spot before the silent march.

Varnus' yells ended abruptly as a passing Necron warrior lopped off his head, and continued pursuing the fleeing Guardsmen. Trooper Caril cowered in her trench, shaking helplessly as her platoon was mowed down around her, each man and woman vanishing in a cloud of green mist and wailing, agonized cries.

Something rose up before her, and she looked up, whispering a prayer to the Emperor, begging his forgiveness at her weakness. Death glared down at her. Looming before her was a Necron, but larger, more powerful, and all the more frightening. She tried raising her lasgun, knowing it would be a futile gesture of defiance-

-and green light splashed down over her, the Immortal blasting her with its weapon.

A frigid chill struck Trooper Caril as she fell backward, and she found her lasgun was gone. She looked down at herself, not believing that she yet lived, and gasped.

The Immortal's weapon had vaporized her armor, weapon, and uniform, leaving her stark naked.

"Merciful Emperor," Trooper Caril whispered, looking up at the machine standing over her exposed body. The chill air and the machine's empty gaze made her shiver as she lay in the dirt. What was this? Some manner of humiliation? Were these emotionless killing machines toying with her, with the Emperor's chosen warriors?

Suddenly consumed by a rage that would have made Commissar Varnus flush with pride, Trooper Caril rose up, grabbing a bayonet from one of her fallen comrades, and leapt at the Necron towering over her. She stabbed at the machine with the steel blade, the metal punching into its body.

It snapped an arm up, casually slapping her aside. She blacked out as she flew through the air, and came to to find herself lying in the dirt once more, her cheek smarting. The shadow of the Immortal fell over her, and she pushed herself up, looking for a weapon, a means to defend herself.

A metal hand clamped over her wrist, icy and lifeless, and she gasped as it yanked back with impossible strength. Her weapon hand was wrenched around her back, and as she flailed with her free hand for a blade or pistol, the Immortal captured that one as well. Both arms were pulled around behind her back, and Trooper Caril struggled, unarmed, naked, and powerless in the grasp of the apparently emotionless warrior's grip.

There was a green flash behind her, and Caril felt something else cold slide over her wrists. She looked back, to see the Necron Immortal having produced some manner of arcane manacles, the sorcerous light of its xeno-breed technology still gleaming around the restraints. Gasping in terror at whatever the machine had planned, she tried to break free again, but its grip was unbreakable. The Immortal clamped the other manacle over her other wrist, locking her hands together tightly behind her back. It let her go, and she fell forward to the dirt. She strained against the metal, but it was solid and unbreakable.

Another green flash, and Caril saw the Immortal had produced a second pair of manacles. She began to crawl away, begging the Emperor for deliverance, but the machine casually grabbed her legs. Frigid, unyielding alien metal closed around her ankles, binding them together, and she lay helpless in the mud and grime. It let her lay there for a second, writhing uselessly in the restraints, before the machine picked her up. It turned her to face it, staring at her with those awful, empty eyes, and then turned her around.

With mechanical disdain, the Immortal shoved Caril down to her knees. and then pushed her forward, bending her over, exposing her backside to it.

The helpless, bound Guardswoman then realized what the abomination intended, and she shook in horror.

Cold metal caressed her legs, sliding up her thighs, and the touch made her gasp. The machine caressed the bare, tender skin on the inside of Caril's thighs, steadily rising up toward the cleavage nestled higher up her body. After a couple seconds of torturous ascent, the captive Guardswoman feeling every inch, it stopped, brushing its exposed objective. She shivered in fearful anticipation and at the frozen touch in her most sensitive of areas, and-

The Immortal shot forward, tearing into the young Guardswoman's core in a single blast. Caril's body went rigid, and she screamed as the incredible cold and impossible hardness lanced through her. It held there for a second, buried inside of her body, and the metal started pulling back out, slow and steady. Once it removed itself from her, it immediately lanced back in, harder.

No, she thought. This was not how it was supposed to be. She had joined the Guard to face the Emperor's enemies but not like-

Her terrified, disbelieving thoughts were cut off as the Immortal thrust again, the third penetrating shot as precise and harsh as the last. Her hands opened and closed in her restraints, the alien metal not even shifting as she struggled. The monster thrust again, jerking her body viciously, shaking her short hair and making her breasts sway with each jab into her core.

It continued. The Immortal said nothing; it couldn't speak. Its only expression was the constant, harsh and relentless pounding.

Trooper Caril, on the other hand, was unable to stay quiet. Each penetrating impact made her gasp and scream in pain; somehow, despite being inside her for several long minutes, the Immortal kept its intrusion icy cold, so that each attack was a numbing yet intensely painful violation. Several seconds passed between each strike, and during that time the Immortal would be still, letting Caril shake in its unyielding grasp, writhe against the manacles locking her hands and feet in place, and cry. Tears were shameful for a Guardswoman of her training and background, but she had not been prepared for this. Death, certainly, torture, a grim and acceptable possibility. But to be stripped and captured, violated in the frozen, metallic hands of the abominable Necrons . . . .

The rythmic attack continued, the machine violating her over and over again, ignoring her cries and shaking and useless, impotent struggles in the manacles. It progressed relentlessly, punishing into her, and despite her own hatred and pain and disbelief, she found a shuddering, horrid pleasure rising up inside of her. Caril fought against it, but as the assault continued, the unwanted orgasm built up, her body betraying her to the machine.

Caril shook as the hated desire made her muscles tremble, and she bit back the groan of bliss the metal monster had ripped from her. As the sensation passed, she fell deeper into tears.

The tide of blasphemous machines had long since passed, pursuing the retreating army. Only a few scarabs remained, passing over the collected dead and ruined machines. A sharp wind floated over the corpse-strewn battlefield, the shrill whisper only cut by Caril's cries.

It had not let up. Two hours had passed, and she was still kneeling in the dirt, hands and feet bound, and the Immortal continued its unending violation. The thrusts varied only slightly, in strength and depth. She was crying freely now, asking the Emperor why he had forsaken her to such a fate. She had long since given up trying to break free, and instead simply knelt in the metal monstrosity's grip, waiting for each thrust to stab into her body. The impacts shook her, letting her short hair sway in the breeze and her breasts vibrate. She stared down at the dirt around her knees, blurred and moistened by the tears that fell off her cheeks and the fluids pooling down her thighs. She'd had three more or the hated orgasms since the first, and each one was a worse betrayal of herself than the last.

Then, it pulled out of her, and stayed out.

Several seconds passed, and she looked up, confused by the sudden shift, and was then hauled to her feet. The Immortal turned, and spun her around with it, and she found herself staring at another Necron, tall and powerful, terrifying to even perceive. She quailed backward, despite the numbing agony she had just passed through, and the Necron Lord reached forward, grasping her chin.

"It will do," the empty, emotionless Necron commander spoke. There was a flash of green light.

The light faded, and she found herself standing in dimness. Caril looked around, seeing she was in a darkened chamber, lit only by a pale green glow. Arcane machines of a design she couldn't fathom rose up around her, filling the chamber. The Necron Lord turned its head, and the Immortal pulled on her arms, dragging the captive Guardswoman across the tomb.

A black pillar rose up before her, surrounded by faint flashes of cold green lightning, and manacles were visible both at foot level and higher up. She found herself pulling back from the device, whatever it was, but the ravishing Immortal carried her forward. It dragged its prisoner before the pillar, and to her shock, the manacles on her wrists suddenly released.

Before Caril could try to escape, the machine grabbed her arms and spun her around. It pulled her wrists up over her head and shoved her back, her bare skin touching the surprisingly warm metal of the pillar, and cold steel gripped her arms once more. The machine bent down as Caril's hands were locked above her, and undid the restraints around the naked woman's feet. It pulled them apart, and locked them to other manacles at the foot of the pillar.

The Immortal stepped back, and turned toward the Necron Lord, which looked over the trembling, helpless Guardswoman, and the Necron commander nodded.

"This one has the gene," it stated. "It will make a fine Pariah." It turned, and then, from the gloom, mechanical forms gathered, silent but purposeful. Caril whimpered, but they did not heed her.

More of the Immortals gathered around the pillar, and at an unspoken command from the Lord, they started toward Caril's exposed, helpless body, one by one.

Her screams echoed through the ancient complex, but the Emperor did not answer her.

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