Unlucky isekai? (Warhammer 40000)

**Ten thousand years of captivity**—that was the price for the arrogance and folly that led to the fall of one of the Emperor's Primarchs. 

Jaghatai Khan had many names: the Great Khan, the Warhawk, the Khan of Khans—these were but a few of his most glorious titles. 

The White Scars, led by him, became a nightmare for all enemies of the nascent Imperium. Their swift and unpredictable tactics wore down and annihilated any foe foolish enough to challenge the Emperor's angels and their Primarch. 

Yet the tragedy that befell them, the Horus Heresy, struck the Khan of Khans hard. 

Jaghatai was not a sociable man. Neither was his Legion. They were harsh, merciless warriors with their own code of honor, but they were too rough and simple for the Imperium. They preferred the battlefield to diplomacy and conversation. 

Among all the Primarchs, Jaghatai had connections with only three: Horus, because the Primarch of the Luna Wolves also favored sudden strike tactics; Magnus the Red, whose Legion, like his own, were outcasts; and finally, Sanguinius, whose purity could pierce even the cruelest of hearts. 

After the Heresy, Jaghatai had no one left who was dear to him, save for his Legion. 

Needless to say, when he returned to Chogoris and learned that the Dark Eldar had raided his planet several times for slaves, the Primarch's anger flared with a new, uncontrollable intensity. 

Too much had happened in too short a time, and Jaghatai Khan could not endure it. Consumed by a thirst for vengeance, he gathered his forces and set off in pursuit of the Dark Eldar. 

It did not take long for him to reach the entrance to the Webway, into which he plunged without hesitation. 

The White Scars, accustomed to swift, unexpected strikes, fell upon the "outskirts" of Commorragh as suddenly as a summer rain in the tropics. 

The Astartes burned and destroyed everything in their path, then vanished into the endless paths of the Webway like ghosts. 

But Jaghatai had become too engrossed and forgotten that the Webway was not his home, but the domain of entirely different masters. 

And at some point, luck turned against the Primarch and his Legion. They walked into a carefully laid trap with no way out. No matter how fiercely they fought, no matter how many enemies fell to their blades and bolters, it was not enough. 

The worst part was that the Dark Eldar did not desire the death of the White Scars' leader. They paid a heavy price, but they managed to capture a living Primarch. 

Jaghatai only vaguely remembered those days. 

At that time, Commorragh was not yet unified, but a collection of archons and their domains. 

He was brought in chains and thrown to the amusement of the crowd, like a gladiator. For many hundreds of years, Jaghatai fought for his life against the most dangerous and vicious creatures in the galaxy. But the most dangerous of them all were the Dark Eldar. 

For the most part, the Primarch was rarely released into the arena. He was the highlight of the show, the prized possession of any Wych Cult. But even so, there were times when Jaghatai doubted his own sanity. 

Ironically, he thought that time was akin to hell, for when Asdrubael Vect finally ascended to his throne, the Primarch learned what true depths of despair were. 

He was brought before the influential Dark Eldar once more, but this was no mere archon—this was the ruler of all Commorragh. 

"Well, beast?" Asdrubael sneered from his black throne, looking into the eyes of the kneeling Primarch. "Do you understand your position now? Who better than you, a Primarch, to embody what awaits all of you, mon-keigh?" 

It is unknown what Vect, who had recently achieved triumph by seizing all of Commorragh, expected in response, but it was certainly not this. 

"Pathetic xenos," Jaghatai's hoarse voice was as strong as ever. "Give me a blade and remove these chains, and I will show your decaying race their place." 

A wave of hatred swept through the ranks of the surrounding Dark Eldar. The hint of their Fall was a blow to their arrogance. Vect was no exception. 

The ruler of Commorragh's eyes narrowed, and a truly unpleasant smirk touched his lips. 

"Is that so? The arenas have not broken you yet. Then I shall entrust this task to true professionals. The next time we meet, the first thing you will do is clean my boots with that insolent tongue of yours. That is, if you still have a tongue by then. The Haemonculi sometimes... get carried away." 

With that, the Primarch was taken away, delivered exactly where Asdrubael had promised. 

Jaghatai was given to the Haemonculi. And it was then that the Primarch fully understood what despair was. The Dark Eldar's masters of torture were true maestros of their craft. One could even say they were the greatest practitioners of torment in the entire galaxy. 

Over the last few thousand years of suffering, the Primarch had thought many times of surrendering and acknowledging the Dark Eldar's dominion, but something always stopped him. 

Something held him on the edge of the abyss and kept him from falling into the void. 

Several times, Jaghatai escaped, but each time he was brought back. There was no place in Commorragh to hide from the Dark Eldar. 

But nothing lasts forever, and the day he had long awaited finally arrived. 

The cursed xenos had become too embroiled in infighting, and Jaghatai not only broke free but also amassed his own army from escaped slaves. 

His appearance had a truly miraculous effect on the morale of the humans and xenos fighting against the Dark Eldar. If before they had fought like condemned men, fully aware that they had no chance of survival, now there was hope among them. 

The slaves fought with such ferocity and thirst for battle that even the cruel Drukhari faltered. And with the introduction of Jaghatai's tactical and strategic genius, the Eldar's situation grew dire. 

However, underestimating the Drukhari was also unwise. The Khan learned this the hard way. 

The best trackers of the Haemonculi were already on his trail, and the Primarch did everything he could to throw them off. 

For he knew one thing for certain: if he were ever at risk of capture again, he would do what he should have done long ago. 

He would not be taken alive. 

***** 

**Macragge**—the place where Roboute Guilliman's body has rested in stasis for ten thousand years. He sits upon a massive marble throne within the Temple of Correction in the Fortress of Hera, one of the most heavily defended places in the entire Imperium. 

Neither Ork hordes, Tau invasions, nor Necron awakenings have shaken the defenders of this majestic place. 

Even the Tyranid hive fleet assault two hundred years ago was destroyed by the coordinated efforts of the fearless defenders. 

It is here that the fortress-monastery of the Ultramarines, noble defenders of humanity, stands, bravely fighting against all the horrors the universe generously bestows upon mankind. 

Hundreds of thousands of pilgrims have come here to gaze upon one of the last living and loyal Primarchs of the Imperium. 

For ten thousand years, nothing in this place, in the throne room, had changed, remaining completely unaltered. But on this day, everything was about to change. 

Dozens of Ultramarines veterans and Librarians watched every step of the tall, elegant Eldar who entered the throne room. 

She looked so alien in this place that it was almost painful to look at her. Yet none of the Astartes made a move to show their contempt. Yes, they despised her and would have destroyed her on the approach to Macragge, but orders prevented them. 

The arriving Custodes had clearly conveyed the words of the Emperor himself: "Do not hinder the Eldar from doing what she has come here to do." 

The Eldar woman approached the seated Roboute, knelt, and raised her hands, closing her eyes. 

For a few seconds, nothing happened, and then reality shuddered as an otherworldly green light pierced through her eyelids. 

The surrounding Librarians shuddered, and some even dropped to one knee under the pressure. Had there been ordinary humans here, they would have died instantly—few can survive being near a god made manifest in the real world. 

The goddess, who had possessed her priestess's body, did not waste the limited time and quickly stepped toward the throne. In an instant, she was on the steps, almost touching the seated Primarch. 

Another step, and the goddess's hand, passing effortlessly and without slowing through the stasis field, touched the Primarch's chest. 

At the same moment, green light engulfed the entire hall and enveloped the seated figure. 

Unknown runes appeared in the air, and the shimmering light reflected in every shade of green. 

The entire process took place in complete silence. No one dared interrupt. Only the occasional creak of armor joints broke the stillness as the Ultramarines clenched their weapons tightly, wishing to end the cursed xenos once and for all. 

A gasp—even the unshakable angels of the Emperor could not contain themselves, for they all saw the impossible. 

For a brief moment, a faint spasm crossed their lord's face! 

And as if waiting for just this, the Primarch's eyes slowly opened, and the stasis field finally disappeared, revealing to the world the awakened true son of the Emperor. 

In a flash, the heavily breathing Eldar woman was at the foot of the throne, collapsing unconscious onto the stone floor. The goddess had left her body, but none of those gathered cared. 

In one motion, the Ultramarines dropped to one knee, bowing their heads. 

A rustle—each of them, trembling with awe, heard the sound of their Primarch rising from his throne. 

Marneus Calgar, the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines, closest to the throne, raised his head and greeted his lord with reverence. 

"We have waited so long... And we have been rewarded!" 

Soon, the news of Guilliman's awakening would spread across the galaxy. 

It would reach the Warp and its inhabitants. 

It would particularly interest the brothers of the rebelling Primarch, for his awakening was not the news they wanted to hear. 

Abaddon unleashed a massacre among his ranks upon hearing of it. Angron was barely restrained from heading straight to Macragg. 

And though Roboute's return from the "dead" was a bright day for the Imperium, it did not mean all was well. 

***** 

A dark room, where only the steady ticking of a clock could be heard. 

By the window, which offered a simultaneously beautiful and horrifying view of Commorragh, sat a beautiful Drukhari woman, her face hidden behind a predatory blue half-mask. 

She thoughtfully twirled a green dagger in her hands, gazing out the window. 

Her heart did not beat, for in its place was a shard of crystal she had won in an intellectual duel with Cegorach himself. 

The rules of the game were simple—each player wagered their heart, and Aurelia Malys, without blinking, agreed to play against the Laughing God. And, most importantly, she won. Afterward, she cut out her own heart and replaced it with the god's. 

Though there was nothing but glass and the city before Aurelia's eyes, she clearly saw how all the pieces of her plan were falling into place, culminating in her revenge. 

Long ago, Malys had achieved the impossible by stealing the Panacea STC from the Imperium, a cure for all diseases. 

She did this to get closer to Asdrubael Vect and join his inner circle. Her plan succeeded. Impressed by her feat, Vect brought Malys close and made her his concubine. 

For the first time in his life, Asdrubael had found someone whose mind rivaled his own. 

But less than ten years later, his interest in Malys waned, and he began treating her little better than a bothersome insect, eventually casting her out of his palace. 

This treatment did not sit well with Malys. Enraged, she left Commorragh with her closest followers and ventured into the Webway, where her self-imposed exile led to unforeseen consequences. In the depths of the labyrinthine dimension, Lady Malys encountered a shimmering being of pure light—the Harlequin god Cegorach. 

It was there that she received his heart and drew closer to her revenge. 

She was behind much of the current rebellions and chaos. And though she noticed the suspicious success of all her actions, it fit her plan. 

A small gesture, and a pair of Dark Eldar women entered with a bow. 

"Begin the third phase," Malys ordered sternly. "It is time for my former master to feel everything he has built crumble before his eyes." 

"As you command, mistress," the women bowed again, exiting the chambers backward. 

"You made a grave mistake, Vect, by not killing me when you had the chance," Malys looked out the window again. "Even the best of us make mistakes, don't we? Then I shall gladly be the one to end your wretched life." 

Suddenly, the floor beneath Malys shuddered, forcing her to grip the armrests of her chair to keep from falling. 

The cold mask on her face broke, revealing her true emotions. 

Aurelia quickly pulled out a data-slate and began frantically sorting through the incoming information. The data did not please her. Whatever had just happened, it was not part of her plan. 

At some point, her pale face froze as she finally understood what had caused such a powerful tremor, felt throughout all of Commorragh. 

***** 

Asdrubael Vect stared unblinkingly at the data before him, unable to believe it was true. 

One of the Dark Eldar's most closely guarded secrets had chosen this moment to make itself known. 

Deep within the Subcommorragh, in a place known only to a select few, stood a massive round metal door. This door, known as the Gates of Khaine, was adorned with glowing protective runes and bound with chains of super-strong starsteel. It had remained thus for millennia since the Fall. Behind the Gates of Khaine lay the madness of the Warp, a terrible breach in the Webway that could not be closed or severed from Commorragh. 

What had caught Vect's attention? 

Perhaps it was the fact that, at this very moment, daemons and other Warp creatures were pouring out of that place in an endless stream. No matter the defenses around the gates, they had been destroyed by a massive explosion felt by all who lived in the Dark City. 

Wherever the Kabal expected a blow, a direct rift into the Warp was not what they had prepared for. 

If Commorragh had once been called a hellish place for what transpired within, it could now be called so officially. 

"My lord!" Another messenger, fearing the fate of the three before him, stood sweating at the entrance. "Urgent reports have arrived!" 

"What, in the name of that whore Slaanesh, now?!" Vect roared. The black veins on his face stood out more prominently than ever. 

"Our outposts have just sent an urgent message. Somehow, a massive mon-keigh fleet has secretly entered the Webway and is now approaching Commorragh!" 

"What fleet?" Asdrubael instinctively asked, still reeling from the news of the Gates of Khaine. 

"According to spy reports," the messenger babbled, relieved to still be alive, "it is a recently launched Crusade fleet that recently departed from Terra, led by the Living Saint!" 

A dead silence fell over the throne room of Commorragh's ruler.