Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

It turned out that Bonebreaker Saraka had an unexpected talent as a preacher. With his fiery speeches and charismatic leadership, he united the fractured ork horde in mere weeks, solidifying their devotion to Dugo. Across the world, the shoulders of every living ork bore the symbol of overlapping red heavy wheels—a mark of their newfound faith.

As for the dissenting orks who opposed the faith in Dugo or sought to fight against Gemoge and Maoge? They were swiftly and brutally dealt with.

Orks are simple like that: when they disagree, they fight, and the victor's beliefs become law.

The red-wheel mark, originally designed as a battlefield identifier to prevent friendly fire, took on a life of its own. To Dukel's surprise, the orks revered the symbol as a sacred totem, a sign of Dugo's blessing. They believed that under Dugo's protection, they were invincible. Their unwavering faith, combined with the reality-bending nature of Waaagh energy, gave the mark a tangible power.

During battle, orks bearing the symbol manifested invisible protective force fields. These fields, though superficially similar to Dukel's mental force field, operated on an entirely different principle.

The orks took this newfound power to heart. They began painting the red heavy-wheel symbol on their armor, weapons, and even their ramshackle vehicles. This ritual granted the entire ork army a pervasive, free protective field.

From that moment, the orks embraced a revolutionary belief system:

Red paint from Gork makes you hit harder.

Blue paint from Mork makes you faster.

And now, red-wheel paint from Dugo makes you tougher.

By simply slapping on some paint, the orks achieved triple-layered enhancements for free.

"It's absurd," Dukel muttered, shaking his head as he observed the phenomenon. "Even by the standards of ancient technology, the orks' ability to weaponize faith and paint is utterly ridiculous."

His astonishment deepened when Saraka's newly united ork horde launched an orbital assault. Their "warships," if such a term could be applied, were little more than enormous piles of garbage cobbled together with duct tape and hope. Each vessel was unique in its grotesque design, yet undeniably lethal.

Gris, the great mechanical sage still bound within his servitor body, stared in disbelief at the fleet. The logic engines within his cybernetic brain nearly short-circuited as he tried to comprehend how these "flying trash heaps" could function, let alone rival the Imperial Navy.

"How...?" Gris stammered. "This defies every known law of engineering!"

Despite their chaotic construction, the ork fleet pushed through the void with reckless ferocity, heading straight for the besieged planet of Euro.

On Euro's Battlefield

The war raged fiercely between the Imperial forces and the ork horde. Among the chaos, a single figure stood as a beacon of hope: Sister Efilar.

Clad in radiant armor, she tore through the ork ranks with a burning chainsword in hand. Wings of ethereal fire spread behind her, casting an incandescent glow that made her porcelain-like skin shimmer. From her eyes, spiritual energy flowed like white mist, enveloping her in an aura of divine power.

To the orks, she was a living nightmare. Her overwhelming presence struck fear into even the most hardened warriors.

Not far from her position, an ork warboss was retreating with his retinue, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the fiery angel of death.

"Wot in Gork's name is dat bird-'umie?!" he bellowed, his bravado giving way to panic. "Where's Boss Bonebreaker? If he don't get here soon, we're done for!"

While the Imperium maintained an advantage in this theater, the tide of battle was shifting.

Just then, a shout rose from the warboss's ranks: "It's Boss Bonebreaker's fleet!"

A holographic projection appeared, displaying Saraka's signature junk-wrought ships breaking into Euro's orbit. The warboss's despair melted away, replaced by manic glee.

"Tell da boyz—reinforcements are 'ere! Waaagh!"

"WAAAGH!!!"

Across the battlefield, ork morale surged. With their fleet in view, the greenskins launched an all-out charge, their Waaagh energy peaking.

Meanwhile, among the Imperials, panic spread like wildfire.

"Bonebreaker's fleet?! How did they get here?"

"Could it be... His Highness failed?"

"Impossible! The Primarch doesn't fail!"

The expeditionary command center descended into frantic speculation. Their concern wasn't just for the battle—it was for the fate of their leader, Dukel.

"Enough!" the chief think tank barked, silencing the room. He spoke with calm authority, though a hint of sorrow laced his voice.

"Prepare the weapon systems on Inner Fire. We intercept the fleet here, no matter the cost."

There was grim understanding in the room. The expeditionary corps had been formed to serve the Primarch. If he were truly lost, their purpose would cease to exist.

The room fell silent, only for a new voice to cut through the comms.

"This is Battleship 22-24-1. I'm Dukel. Do not engage the Bonebreaker fleet."

The room froze.

"Repeat: Do not engage!"

A wave of relief washed over the think tanks. Their leader was alive, and his orders brought clarity to their confusion.

On the ground, the orks and Imperials alike noticed a strange black dot streaking down from the sky. Both sides paused, watching as it plummeted into the ork ranks with an explosive impact.

The battlefield fell silent.

Smoke and debris obscured the crash site. Dozens of orks were thrown aside by the shockwave, but they gathered eagerly, convinced it was a gift from Bonebreaker.

"Wot's dis? Some kinda mega-weapon?"

"Dugo's blessings are amazin'!"

Their cheers were cut short as a tall figure emerged from the smoke.

It was Dukel.

With a single swipe, he crushed the nearest ork boy into paste.

"Surprise," the Primarch said with a wry smile.

The Imperials cheered.

The orks screamed.

Dukel's Waaagh-infused force fields surged with power, terrifying even the most fanatical greenskins. Their bravado evaporated, replaced by sheer panic as they fled from the battlefield, howling in fear.

"Monster!"

And with that, the tide of war shifted once more.

...

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