Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

The drop pods, trailing flames like fiery meteors, descended in dense clusters, resembling falling stars. On the ground, Imperial soldiers who were still holding out felt a surge of emotion, their eyes moistening as they beheld the descent. The Emperor's angels of death had arrived. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though they had been transported back thousands of years to the golden age of mankind.

Dukel sat within his drop pod, monitoring the streams of data displayed before him.

As the pod pierced the toxic gas layer—a byproduct of the indiscriminate use of chemical weapons—the battlefield below began to come into focus.

Tens of thousands of Withering Drones, corrupted constructs of the World Purification Plague Army, roamed the skies. The roar of artillery and lasguns, coupled with the cries of Imperial soldiers, grew steadily louder.

"Landing coordinates confirmed. Preparing for air defense suppression," came the cold, mechanical voice of the drop pod's machine spirit.

From the vox-channel, the commanding voice of the Soulfire's bridge officer broke through:

"Air defense suppression in progress. Targeting anti-air emplacements."

Adjustments to the pod's trajectory began, the retro-thrusters firing to align Dukel's descent precisely to the designated landing zone.

On the ground, the forces of Chaos opened fire, their lascannons—blessed by Nurgle's unholy touch—blazing with diseased energy. The corrupted beams pierced several pods, turning them into flaming wrecks.

Dukel, observing the battlefield below, made his decision. When his pod reached just under 1,000 meters from the surface, he stood. With a powerful kick, he forced open the pod's doors. Clutching a bolter in one hand and a chainsword in the other, he leaped into the chaos below.

His enhanced body accelerated beyond the speed of his falling pod, tearing through the sound barrier with a deafening crack. A sonic wave and a circular vapor cloud marked his descent.

"BOOM!"

The Primarch slammed into the ground, the kinetic force of his landing shattering the earth around him and sending shockwaves across the battlefield. The impact obliterated a Chaos Space Marine unfortunate enough to be in his landing zone, reducing his power armor and flesh to a grotesque smear.

Dukel rose from the crater, his massive form wreathed in spiritual flames that licked at his armor. He hefted his grenade launcher, its barrel glowing with psychic energy.

"For the Emperor! Glory to the Golden Throne!" he bellowed, his voice amplified by his power armor's vox system.

The grenade launcher roared, the shells detonating amidst the ranks of the heretics. The psychic energy infused within each round tore through flesh, bone, and corrupted power fields alike. Chaos forces disintegrated into clouds of ash and ichor.

The Second Legion's Fireguard, clad in gleaming power armor that radiated purity, swiftly deployed from their pods and formed ranks around their Primarch. Their weapons, similarly imbued with the fire of the soul, cut through the corrupted defenders with ease. Even the formidable power fields of the Chaos Marines proved ineffective against these consecrated armaments.

Within moments, Dukel and his warriors had cleared the landing zone, eliminating enemy firepoints with ruthless efficiency. But from the surrounding haze of toxic fog, the guttural roars of Chaos reinforcements echoed as fresh waves of heretics and Plague Marines began to converge.

In the skies, more drop pods rained down like a meteor storm. Space Marines, Sisters of Battle, and Imperial Guardsmen rapidly deployed, forming battle formations with practiced precision.

"Humanity will prevail!" Dukel's voice rang out, filled with unshakable conviction. His fiery passion spread like a contagion through the ranks.

With a rallying cry, the Imperial forces surged forward. The Primarch led the charge, his bolter and chainsword wreaking havoc upon the corrupted hordes. The ground beneath their feet became a charnel house of shattered power armor, splintered bone, and pulverized flesh.

Amidst the carnage, Dukel activated his vox-link.

"Execute Tactic 63!" he commanded.

The tide of Imperial warriors shifted with coordinated precision. Dukel and his Fireguard split off, driving straight toward the anti-aircraft railguns of the World Purification Plague Army. Meanwhile, the living saint Efilar led her contingent toward the embattled Iron Fortress to provide much-needed relief.

At the Iron Fortress, the defenders clung desperately to their positions. The Astra Militarum, alongside the fortress's garrison, fought valiantly against overwhelming odds. Civilians worked tirelessly amidst the chaos, ferrying ammunition, tending to the wounded, and even taking up arms when the situation grew dire.

Efilar, her newly ascended form glowing with spiritual fire, was a beacon of hope on the battlefield. Her blazing wings of psychic flame cut through the fog of war, incinerating heretics and clearing a path for the Imperial reinforcements. Even the hardened Astartes could not match her divine fury.

Back on the other flank, Dukel pressed forward relentlessly. His chainsword roared as it carved through the outer armor of a Chaos Predator tank, exposing its vulnerable innards. With a well-placed grenade, he obliterated the tank from within, the explosion scattering flaming debris and Chaos warriors alike.

"Keep advancing!" he roared, kicking aside the smoldering wreckage. His Fireguard followed in his wake, cutting down anything that stood between them and the railgun emplacements.

Their psychic matrix, a vast mental force field, shielded them from Chaos-touched artillery and lasfire. Blessed by the Emperor, it rendered the heretics' corrupted munitions impotent.

The battlefield was a testament to the sacrifices of the Imperium. Everywhere, soldiers of the Astra Militarum fought and died, their courage unbroken even in the face of overwhelming odds. Civilians worked alongside them, embodying the unyielding spirit of humanity.

This was the foundation of the Imperium: a relentless tide of sacrifice and resolve. In the darkest of times, it was the blood, sweat, and unwavering faith of countless souls that held the galaxy together.

For the Emperor, there could be no compromise.