Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The flames erupted, crushing everything into dust under their relentless force. Dukel unleashed his fury like an enraged lion, determined to stop the psychic array's massive construction.

Amidst the Primarch's wrath, it felt as though doomsday had descended upon the Great Pyramid. The earth trembled, dust surged in clouds, and all around, a sea of crimson flames devoured the surroundings.

Yet, within this destructive force, the azure runes danced in the inferno like ethereal sprites. Though some were consumed by the flames, more runes appeared to replace them.

The enormous magic circle seemed inexhaustibly linked to the primordial power of the Warp, replenished continuously. Despite the overwhelming rage of the Primarch, it could not be destroyed.

"It's futile, Dukel. This teleportation array is irreversible. The wisdom of the Architect of Fate runs deeper than the Sea of Souls itself. No one can fully comprehend the mysteries of this array, let alone stop it."

Magnus sat on the ground, his posture indifferent as he gazed at the glowing runes. He continued,

"This array will take you to the deathly fate chosen by the Lord of Destiny. Are those the children you decided to save after your rebirth?"

"What a pity, Dukel. They will perish alongside you as your chosen ones fall, one by one, before your very eyes."

"I truly wish to see how fate's cruel games treat you differently from me. Pfft—"

Before Magnus could finish, Dukel's punch slammed into his abdomen, silencing him and cutting off his mockery mid-sentence.

Magnus looked up in stunned disbelief as the Emperor's Second Son raised his right hand high. Infinite energy gathered into his clenched fist, radiating a light brighter than a star. With one devastating blow, Dukel struck the Great Pyramid, and the former City of Light let out an unholy wail.

The entire city quaked. Horrendous cracks spread outward from the impact site, stretching as far as the eye could see and beyond.

"What is this?" warriors from the Thousand Sons and the expeditionary forces cried out as the tremors surged beneath their feet. No mortal could remain standing amidst the chaos.

As they stared at the colossal fissure bisecting the city, admiration and fear surfaced in every onlooker's eyes. The unimaginable power of Dukel's strike had torn through earth, steel, and the Thousand Sons' runic protections.

The Great Pyramid was split apart.

What seemed like an eternity—or an instant—passed. The explosion's light and tremors faded, leaving an eerie stillness. The massive rift dividing the City of Light bore testimony to the destruction.

Two separate halves of the city floated in the vast Warp, separating the warring mortals and their demigod leaders. The fragments drifted farther apart with every heartbeat, ensuring they would never reunite.

Above the soldiers of the expeditionary force, psychic flames coalesced into enormous, watchful eyes, illuminating their path. A tangible psychic force field emanated from their gazes, shielding them from the Warp's chaotic storms.

Dukel stood at the chasm's edge, observing the departing forces.

"Magnus, if your master truly wished for my death, he could have been more direct—perhaps arranging a duel in the gladiatorial pits. There was no need for such subterfuge."

He glanced at his brother with rare warmth. "But you did remind me of one thing: I am unafraid of death. Yet, how could I let my chosen children march to their deaths with me?"

Magnus, nursing his injuries, grimaced as Dukel turned toward him with an uncharacteristic smile that seemed to say, Thank you, brother.

Magnus coughed violently, finally expelling the blood trapped in his throat from Dukel's earlier blow.

In his mind, he silently cursed the Lord of Destiny. This beast… your carefully laid trap may not be enough to contain him.

Just as Dukel finished speaking, a primal roar echoed across the Warp.

From the northwest, an endless, crimson shadow emerged, suffused with the scent of blood and iron. Illusions of battles—the clash of steel, the roars of beasts—manifested in the surrounding air. The Great Pyramid trembled as if consumed by rage itself.

Khorne—the Blood God—had taken notice. The bravery, wrath, and defiance Dukel displayed in this brotherly war had stirred the Blood God's fervor. The echoes of war were his symphony, and he yearned for Dukel to join him as his favored champion in the Brass Citadel.

On the fractured halves of the City of Light, the Thousand Sons and the expeditionary forces ceased their battle. Both sides scrambled to regroup, their leaders lost in the shifting Warp.

"We must return to His Highness!"

"This is a divine trap. We must face it together!"

Both factions shared a rare unity, striving to reconnect with their Primarchs. Yet, Efilar—standing tall with fiery wings—intervened.

"Stand down! Follow your orders and return to the material universe."

Political Commissar Kane stepped forward, defiant. "No! We cannot abandon His Highness. If we fall, we fall fighting at his side!"

Efilar regarded him with a mix of admiration and exasperation. "Your courage is noted, Commissar. But this is not what your Primarch desires."

Wings blazing, she ascended into the sky. "I will go alone. If I cannot return…"

She turned to her sisters. "Bring my song to His Highness. Let him know we fought until the end."

...

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