Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

Only orks can defeat orks. When the Bonebreaker Legion deployed to the battlefield of Euro World, it scarcely needed the assistance of Imperial forces. In mere days, they crushed the protracted war with terrifying ease.

Saraka, the ork warboss and self-proclaimed prophet of Dugo, waved his crude yet deadly power axe during his fiery speeches. Through a cunning mix of intimidation and persuasion, he rallied the orks of Euro World under his banner, either by converting them or slaying those who resisted.

What began as a brutal clash between the ork hordes and the Imperium swiftly devolved into a civil war among the orks themselves. The central question: which of the three ork gods—Gork, Mork, or the newly risen Dugo—was the mightiest?

For the Bonebreaker Legion, victory was inevitable. Orks under Saraka's command boasted:

"We'z gotz three colors on our kit—red for speed, blue for luck, and green for... well, we'z orkz! Dat's why we'z da best!"

As civil war raged, even diehard loyalists of Gork and Mork began defecting to Saraka's forces, drawn by the Waaagh energy radiating from the marks of Dugo. Many declared, "Dat bloodmark iz so waaagh! We'z want one too!"

From orbit, Primarch Dukel observed the endless tides of orks tearing each other apart, his expression a mix of awe and grim determination.

Orks, he realized once again, were a horrifying race.

In terms of technology, their crude yet effective machinery often rivaled Imperial tech in functionality. Their "junkyard" space hulks somehow remained capable of navigating the void with remarkable speed and durability. Their arsenal even included monstrosities like Roks, Gargants, and Battle Moons—grotesque yet devastatingly effective machines of war.

In terms of numbers, they were even more terrifying. When one ork fell, countless spores birthed thousands more in a matter of days. They were an inexhaustible tide.

While Dukel's forces observed the chaos below, the Imperial Guard cautiously maintained defensive positions. Though they were hardened soldiers, none could deny the relief of watching the greenskins slaughter each other. Fewer sacrifices were always welcome.

Elsewhere, the Mechanicus Magos Gris—one of the few aware of Dukel's strategy—watched the ork civil war unfold with manic glee. To him, it was not a bloodbath, but a masterpiece. Witnessing orks fight under the banner of a new, fabricated god was evidence of the Primarch's genius. Gris felt honored not only to witness history in the making but also to have contributed to this great endeavor.

The Imperial Creed, however, did not share the Magos's enthusiasm.

The Ecclesiarchy's clergy, zealous and unyielding, were deeply conflicted. On the one hand, they celebrated the victory of the expeditionary fleet. On the other, they could not ignore the uncomfortable implications: alliances with xenos and the glorification of a fabricated ork god.

One priest whispered grimly, "The Primarch has resurrected. The Imperium sees hope in this darkness. But we have allied with greenskins... What does this make us?"

Their unease grew as they recalled earlier events:

Primarch Roboute Guilliman had allied with the Aeldari Ynnari, leading them into Imperial territory.

Now, Primarch Dukel had forged a truce with the orks, even steering them into a civil war to lessen their threat to humanity.

Was this strategy—or heresy?

Yet, despite their doubts, none dared voice dissent. The Primarchs had returned, and humanity's survival was at stake. Criticizing such actions, even in whispers, could see them branded as traitors.

And so, the priests prayed silently to the Emperor, seeking guidance.

…

Having unified the orks of Euro World, Bonebreaker Saraka left as abruptly as he had arrived. As he stood aboard the deck of his ramshackle ork warship, he held a golden, double-headed Aquila in his enormous hand. The intricate Imperial symbol seemed out of place in his brutish grip.

Saraka allowed himself a moment of reflection, a rare glimpse of thoughtfulness. Then, he smirked. His expression shifted, becoming once again that of the cunning, brutal warlord he was.

"Ladz, it's time ta move! WAAAGH!!!"

The Bonebreaker Legion launched the first Great Waaagh Expedition in galactic history, setting their sights on the stars.

Meanwhile, the Imperial expeditionary fleet wasted no time. With Euro World stabilized, their mission continued. The galaxy awaited salvation—or subjugation.

Chaos cults, heretics, xenos, and horrors of the Warp threatened humanity at every turn. The war would never end, but the presence of the Primarchs inspired even the most jaded soldiers.

Onboard the Inner Fire, Dukel commanded his fleet as they encountered a new enemy: the daemon fleets of Khorne. The massive void battle was underway.

"Full speed ahead!" Dukel's voice roared through the comms. "Ram the bastards! The Inner Fire shall burn them to cinders!"

"Aye, sir!" the aging captain stammered, sweat dripping down his brow.

Amidst the clash of steel and fire, amidst the unyielding tides of war, one truth remained:

Victory belonged to mankind.

Even if the galaxy burned.

Victory heralded the dawn in the eternal night.

Victory, forged by the relentless march of the Primarchs.

Dukel's crusade would not end until every enemy of humanity was reduced to ash.

...

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