Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

Efilar flapped her wings, soaring into the bizarre heights of the Immaterium's shifting skies. This was a journey fraught with hopelessness, an act of reckless folly with almost no chance of survival. Yet, she was undeterred. To pursue the vision of her god, she would brave any torment, endure any wound.

Suddenly—

"Puff!"

A massive, unblinking eye opened on her forehead, and her body froze mid-flight, suspended against her will.

"Efilar, my most loyal child, my pious servant. Why are you so reckless and willful? The warriors await your leadership, and the despairing masses need your guidance. How can you abandon the mission I entrusted to you and succumb to such reckless emotion?"

The voice of the Primarch resonated within her mind.

The slight reproach in his tone weighed on her heart like a mountain, but for the first time, she did not submit. Instead, she raised her head. Her soul burned brightly, her eyes reflecting stubborn resolve.

"My Lord, forgive my willfulness. I seek nothing else but to follow you. The harder the path, the stronger my desire to walk beside you."

"Nonsense!" The Primarch's scolding tone thundered through her mind. "I am merely responding to the invitation of the gods, not walking to my doom. Do you have so little faith in me as to believe I am destined to fail?"

"No, my Lord! I would never doubt you!" Efilar shook her head fiercely.

"Return. Do not concern yourself with me. Our reunion is not far off."

Without waiting for her reply, an unseen force pulled her back through the skies. The soul-light from the third eye on her forehead pierced the fog of the Warp, guiding her homeward.

"My Lord, when will we meet again?!"

As a daemon, Efilar had completely lost control of her body and could only cry out in desperation. But this time, no answer came. Only silence greeted her. She endured this silence, stretching across what felt like an eternity, until finally, the voice spoke again.

"The ritual circle has not yet activated. I do not know where the gods will cast me. Seek my brother, the Primarch of the Thirteenth Legion, Guilliman, Lord of the Five Hundred Worlds. His seers may discern my location. Also, tell Gris to consult Cawl. The Second Legion's psychic engine remains incomplete, and my heir is yet unborn. What has the Fabricator-General been doing?"

Efilar's face lit with hope. Her body hurtled through the Warp, streaking like a comet into the ruins of the City of Light.

Kane, stationed nearby and preparing for battle, immediately rushed to her side when he saw her crash into the ruins.

"Efilar, you're back so soon! Did you find His Highness?"

Coughing, she climbed from the rubble, ignoring the dust clinging to her robes.

"Summon the astropaths! Contact His Royal Highness the Regent immediately!"

Meanwhile, Magnus the Red glared at Duke, shrinking back instinctively. He could tell his brother was displeased.

"What now, Duke?" Magnus asked, his voice timid.

Duke's expression remained stern. "The child disobeyed. I had to scold her. No need for further disputes."

Magnus's single eye narrowed in irritation. "You act as though you're any better, you stubborn fool."

Duke sighed, sitting beside his brother. "You're right. My plans have failed, and now I'm a prisoner of fate."

The ritual circle of Tzeentch was nearing completion. The Great Game's pieces were already in motion, and Magnus's demonic form drew Duke's eye. The sight of his brother's corrupted visage pulled a question from his lips.

"Brother, after all this time, do you not find your new form repulsive? Half-human, half-daemon… does it not disgust you?"

Magnus's anger flared. "What do you know, Duke? You weren't there for the dark years! Of course you can judge!"

Duke chuckled bitterly. "Perhaps. But does it satisfy you? What misery has the Imperium truly wrought?"

Magnus's voice rose in fury. "The Emperor's indifference is the root of all suffering! His apathy cost us everything! Horus's betrayal, our brotherhood's fracturing, the purging of the Second and Eleventh Legions… all because we were tools, nothing more!"

Duke studied his brother in silence. "You care too much, Magnus. About his love, his approval. None of you ever understood that you didn't need it."

The ritual circle's light grew brighter, gathering energy until it tore through the boundaries of reality. A great surge of power enveloped the remnants of Tizca, dragging it and its occupants into the void.

When the ruins settled, Duke sensed another presence. A sinister, serpentine voice whispered into his mind.

"Duke… you've arrived at last."

Duke laughed, the sound echoing across the ruins. "Fulgrim! What a pleasant surprise. A reunion of brothers, orchestrated by the gods. How delightful."

He glanced at Magnus, battered and bruised, before gripping the Crimson King's massive head and severing it with his chainsword. The daemon's essence was preserved, compressed into the severed head, which Duke hung at his waist.

Magnus cursed him furiously, but Duke ignored the insults, relishing the growing intensity of the conflict to come.

The towering figure of the Primarch strode boldly into the depths of the dark world. His crimson chainsword gleamed in the dim light, a promise of destruction. The eerie cries of daemons filled the air, heralding the trap of the gods. But Duke's laughter rang louder than the wails, undaunted by the chaos awaiting him.

Galaxy Martial Arts Arena. Come if you dare!

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