Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

In the Chaos-tainted world targeted by the Thousand Sons Fleet, the grim work of executions continued. The sheer number of corrupted citizens overwhelmed many warriors of the Expeditionary Legion, necessitating rotations to stave off mental collapse.

Compared to deploying cyclonic torpedoes to purge the entire planet in one cataclysmic strike, ground-level purges were painstakingly slow. Yet, they bore bittersweet rewards—hundreds of thousands of human survivors were screened and rescued. Those found free of significant corruption would board the expeditionary fleet, destined for habitable worlds or a life of raising future generations aboard ships.

Meanwhile, the Mechanicus and Ecclesiarchy priesthood worked tirelessly to seal Warp rifts and subspace nodes, striving to minimize Chaos's lingering influence. This purification process was projected to last at least a month.

Dukel, seated in his chamber aboard the Soul Fire, busied himself with designs for future combat technologies, drafting concepts with practiced precision.

"Your Highness," came a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Efilar, a stern look etched onto her face. She held a crystal orb, its surface glinting with unnatural light.

"Look at this," she said, her voice laced with concern. "The Sisters found it near the subspace teleportation array."

Dukel's eyes narrowed as he studied the object. Without touching it, he instantly recognized the artifact's vile origins.

"A creation of the Crystal Labyrinth," he stated with certainty, the disdain evident in his tone. The unmistakable stench of Tzeentch clung to it.

The Crystal Labyrinth—Tzeentch's domain in the Warp. Its creations never appeared without reason. The presence of this artifact suggested that the Architect of Fate had taken a personal interest in this campaign.

"So," Dukel mused, "this world saw Genestealer cultists guided by Tzeentch summon Slaaneshi daemons to fight Khorne's warbands? A tangled web of Chaos infighting… typical."

The implications were clear: this was no coincidence. The artifact was either a message, a warning, or an ultimatum.

A smirk crossed the Primarch's face as he recalled the fallout from his earlier encounter with Nurgle. Ever since Dukel had slain the Great Unclean One, Lymphbas, Nurgle had retreated into his festering lairs, nursing his humiliation.

"What the Emperor said was true—Chaos gods are nothing but squabbling parasites," Dukel sneered before gripping the scarlet chainsword resting beside him. With a single strike, he shattered the crystal orb into countless shards.

As the orb shattered, grotesque visions erupted across the chamber. Nightmarish landscapes from the Crystal Labyrinth bled into reality. Steel walls distorted with mocking laughter, while the floor whispered forbidden truths. Luminescent blue runes etched themselves onto Dukel's draft papers, spilling esoteric knowledge into the air.

Tzeentch's voice seemed to echo through the chaos, offering secrets wrapped in cryptic riddles. Yet, the fire of Dukel's soul blazed fiercely, incinerating the encroaching Warp presence.

"Fate's end? A hopeless future?" Dukel scoffed. "You flatter yourself, Tzeentch. The gods are neither omniscient nor omnipotent."

The Primarch's disdain cut deeper than any blade. He never feared humanity's doom. For him, there was always a final option. If Chaos ever triumphed, he would return to Terra, drag the Emperor from the Golden Throne, and together they would confront the Chaos Gods in the Warp. The galaxy might perish, but so too would the Ruinous Powers.

A galaxy without humanity was a galaxy unworthy of existence.

The Soul Fire resumed its campaign, the fleet moving to cleanse the next world of Chaos corruption. Despite Tzeentch's machinations, the expedition encountered little resistance. Warp storms subsided, and the gods' minions seemed to retreat into the shadows.

As worlds were reclaimed, morale soared. Supplies were replenished, and new manpower bolstered the fleet's ranks. Victory felt within reach, and many began to hope that the Imperium could rise from its dark age.

But Dukel knew better.

The quieter the battlefield, the greater the storm brewing. Every step forward aligned with some hidden plan. Like a beast led unknowingly into a trap, the expedition advanced through the shadows of Tzeentch's design.

Yet Dukel pressed on. He would not abandon his brothers and sisters of the Imperium, nor would he falter in his hope for humanity's resurgence.

As the fleet sailed through the Immaterium, their Warp drives protected by the Mind Matrix, disaster struck.

A sudden explosion rocked the Soul Fire. The fleet was ambushed. From the shadows of the Warp emerged a massive fleet bearing the ornate, Baroque markings of traitors.

The Thousand Sons.

Plasma batteries and macro-cannons blazed as the Soul Fire retaliated. The Warp itself seemed to scream, stirred into a frenzy by the violent exchange. Columns of fire pierced the void, and the sea of souls churned with terrible waves.

Demonic shrieks echoed through the ether as the Chaos Gods unleashed their fury. Tentacles from the Immaterium pulled ships into oblivion, their destruction marked by sickening crunches and gory splashes of light.

Even the loyalists, shielded by the Mind Matrix, were not immune. Holes appeared in the psychic barrier, allowing corrupting energies to seep in. Decks began to blister with pustules of Chaos, and malformed daemons clawed their way into reality.

Dukel stood firm on the Soul Fire's bridge. Summoning his immense psychic power, he erected a mental fortress to shield the fleet. The fiery essence of his soul swept through the cracks, incinerating the encroaching daemons and sealing the breaches.

The chaos finally subsided, revealing the identity of their attackers: an immense flagship of the Thousand Sons fleet, its hull adorned with eldritch sigils and the unmistakable marks of the traitors to the Emperor.

Dukel's gaze hardened. The battle against the sorcerous sons of Magnus had begun.

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