Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

Dukel and the expeditionary corps advanced through the desolate hive world, purging the abominations corrupted by the Warp's insidious influence.

Long before the Imperial fleet's arrival in this sector, Khorne worshippers had descended upon the planet, wreaking havoc. The corrupting energies of the Warp, alongside viral plagues, had twisted the very fabric of life here.

Soulless husks wandered like mindless zombies, their once-human forms grotesquely malformed by chaos corruption. They raised their heads with jerky, unnatural movements, shrieking as they lunged toward the expeditionary force, only to be obliterated mid-air by bolter fire.

Such cursed worlds were not uncommon in the galaxy. Almost every planet touched by the Warp's corruption became a nightmarish hellscape, a blasphemous parody of life.

The ruins were littered with evidence of past conflicts—deep craters from orbital bombardments, toppled statues of the Emperor, and walls smeared with gore. Piles of skulls had been fashioned into crude monuments to chaos, a macabre mockery of Imperial order.

Massive pits dotted the terrain, their sheer verticality a testament to plasma cannon strikes from the Imperial Navy. Civilian machinery, colossal in size, lay scattered and ruined, their sparking remnants a stark reminder of the hive world's former industry.

This was once a hive world, a vital cog in the Imperium's war machine. Towering hive cities, constructed atop one another like grotesque pyramids, had housed over a hundred billion souls. These hive cities were essential, serving as recruitment grounds for the Astra Militarum. Millions of workers, slaves, and laborers churned out munitions, war machines, and fresh bodies to feed the Imperium's endless wars.

The average lifespan of an Astra Militarum soldier on the frontlines was a mere fifteen minutes, yet the hive world's brutal system ensured an unending supply of recruits. Breeding programs assigned citizens to reproduction tasks as though they were components in a manufactorum, all in service of humanity's grim survival.

Now, however, Dukel doubted how many had survived the Warp's corruption. Hive cities bred misery as much as industry, and the overwhelming despair among the lower hive dwellers had fueled an exponential rise in cultist activity, culminating in catastrophic rebellion.

The expeditionary corps marched on, accompanied by the robed and augmented tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Using their mechadendrites and data-probes, the tech-priests extracted data from the corrupted corpses scattered across the battlefield. Steel needles punctured decomposing skulls with surgical precision, and the extracted memories were uploaded to cogitator arrays for analysis.

Dukel reviewed the grim findings:

"So," the Primarch began, his voice a low growl, "a Genestealer Cult, calling themselves the Children of the Four-Armed Emperor, staged a rebellion. And in their ignorance, they summoned daemons of Slaanesh to combat Khorne's followers?"

The absurdity of the situation caused even Dukel, a Primarch forged for war, to grimace. "What in the Emperor's name is this galactic farce?"

The Genestealer Cult, part of the Tyranid vanguard, was known for infiltrating human society and corrupting it from within. Yet their ignorance of both the Imperium and the Hive Mind often resulted in baffling contradictions. These hybrids—alien in form but human in behavior—frequently adopted the Imperial Creed, worshiping their deluded version of the God-Emperor.

On some worlds, these Genestealer Cults fought with fanatical fervor against Chaos incursions, matching even the famed Death Korps of Krieg in devotion and ferocity. However, their warped perception of faith often led them to summon "miracles" that brought only ruin—such as daemons of the Warp.

Even the Tyranids, the devourers of worlds, avoided assimilating planets with active Genestealer Cults. The Hive Mind viewed these misguided hybrids as defective biomass, unworthy of consumption.

The expeditionary force eventually tracked the cult's ritual site—a ruined cathedral deep within the hive sprawl. The Genestealers were in the midst of a frenzied ceremony, chanting praises to their "Four-Armed Emperor." The Warp gate they had opened spewed forth lesser daemons of Slaanesh, who delighted in tearing apart the ignorant cultists.

The daemons, sinewy creatures with seductive forms and elongated claws, feasted upon the flesh and souls of their summoners. Yet their orgy of slaughter was cut short as bolter shells and heavy flamer blasts tore through the air.

The Space Marines descended with the wrath of the Emperor, their power armor gleaming amidst the chaos. Each step crushed daemon ichor and alien viscera beneath ceramite boots.

As Dukel, towering even among the Astartes, emerged from the formation, the surviving Genestealers turned their fervent gazes toward him.

A bald, lavender-skinned hybrid with four arms and a grotesque ridge on its forehead prostrated itself before the Primarch.

"Angel of the Emperor," it hissed reverently, "you are majestic and divine! Surely, you have come to bless us with the Emperor's will."

The creature crawled toward Dukel, attempting to kiss the polished steel of his greaves. Disgusted, Dukel kicked the abomination aside.

Even then, the Genestealer's expression remained ecstatic. "Praise the Four-Armed Emperor! This is His holy trial, is it not? Please, tell us what our God commands!"

Dukel regarded the pitiful creature with a mixture of contempt and amusement. A wry smile crossed his face as he spoke.

"I am Dukel, the Second Primarch of the Emperor. He has sent me to bring you to his Golden Throne."

The Genestealer's eyes widened in awe. Without hesitation, it drove a bone blade into its own chest, exclaiming, "For the Emperor! I offer my soul!"

Its lifeless body slumped to the ground, and Dukel prodded it with his boot to confirm its death.

"Fools," the Primarch muttered, shaking his head. Then, with a sharp gesture, he gave the order.

"Kill them all."

Grenade launchers and bolters roared to life, delivering the Emperor's mercy to the remaining hybrids. The alien infestation was purged in a hailstorm of blessed munitions, leaving only smoldering ruins in the wake of the expeditionary force.

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