Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

—"We uphold the indomitable spirit of humanity, expanding our dominion with courage, claiming every star in the firmament for the Imperium. Long live His Majesty! Long live the Supreme Warmaster! May our Empire endure for eternity!"

When Dukel projected his will into the psychic realm woven within the Leaves of Caliban, he was met with a chorus of countless voices. The fervor of billions coalesced into an ocean of resolve. The banners of the Sky Eagle billowed under the astral light, and the engines of tens of millions of warships roared in unison.

That day, the greatest fleet the galaxy had ever seen embarked on its journey.

"A grand armada indeed."

Dukel observed the fleet's departure with a mix of admiration and solemnity. The hymn of mankind was a hymn of courage. His awe did not stem from the sheer might of the fleet but from the conviction it embodied—the yearning for the abyss of the void, the ambition to conquer the stars, an ambition that even the present Imperium could scarcely comprehend.

At the vanguard of the armada, Dukel spotted a lone figure clad in heavy ceramite. His eyes burned like twin suns, his crimson cloak whipping in the cosmic winds, his stance proud and unyielding.

A figure he knew all too well—himself.

"So, I truly was the Warmaster."

He had suspected as much, but seeing it with his own eyes was another matter entirely.

Dukel immersed himself deeper into the psychic currents, reconstructing fragments of a past long buried.

He saw this great fleet carve its path through the perilous void, grinding entire systems beneath its heel. The Imperium expanded, and the destiny of humanity grew ever more formidable.

Until Randan.

—"The Warmaster is mad. He claims the Emperor is the greatest threat to mankind. Madness! No… perhaps it is I who have lost my senses. I hope so."

—"We had no choice but to defy the Warmaster. We lost. Yet our defeat was not entirely in vain. We captured an alien—one of the xenos of Randan. The Warmaster must have been corrupted by this creature. How can we set things right?"

—"The Randan alien may be insignificant, but this time, the foe of the Imperium's warriors is the Supreme Warmaster himself, the very leader to whom we swore eternal fealty!"

The Imperium fractured. Its defenders, once united, raised bulwarks against the charge of the very commander they had once followed without question.

At the forefront of the resistance stood Leon. His wrath burned as fiercely as his namesake, his eyes bloodshot. "Dukel, this is betrayal!"

The Second Primarch's expression hardened. With a single motion, he drove his adversary to the ground, voice resolute. "For the survival of mankind."

Dukel watched as his past self, the Second Primarch, fell deeper into silence with each exchange he had with the Randan xenos.

—"I never imagined that the greatest enemy of the Randan War—the one whom the Imperium feared most—would be the Emperor's own second son."

The Warmaster of the Imperium had once again led a rebellion. A bitter irony, yet one that felt inevitable.

Following the Lion's fall, more Primarchs took the field—nine Legions, over three hundred thousand Astartes, and millions of Mechanicus troops.

A force unfathomable in scale. Even the Imperium's Warmaster, the fabled Second Primarch, could not stand against half of the Imperium's strength alone.

In the crucible of endless war, the genetic flaws of the Second Primarch and his sons manifested. Flesh twisted, eyes multiplied upon his skin, his form growing ever mightier—yet ever more inhuman.

Victory was won at an unspeakable cost. The Imperium, once the bastion of humanity, teetered on the brink of ruin.

History would record it thus: Countless fleets obliterated without survivors, entire worlds reduced to ruin, sectors abandoned, Titan Legions shattered beyond recovery, and the Imperium's Astartes Legions crippled.

And yet, the Second Primarch's gaze never wavered. He pressed forward, unwavering in his conviction.

Until Taxila.

Until the Emperor himself descended upon the battlefield.

Father and son stood opposed, blades drawn. The strongest of humanity waged war upon one another in a final, brutal reckoning.

The psychic realm within the Leaves of Caliban crumbled.

Dukel emerged from his trance, absorbing the entirety of his lost past. The illusions dissolved like mist, leaving only the abyss of his own thoughts.

He stood alone, frowning. "I understand what happened ten thousand years ago. But there's still one thing I can't explain."

"What troubles you?" A voice responded—his own, yet not. The Second Primarch stepped forth from the void, his gaze unwavering.

Dukel met his own gaze without surprise. "Why were most of my memories erased, save for the image of me raising my blade against the Emperor? The Battle of Randan nearly shattered the Imperium. Why did the Emperor still deem us loyal?"

"Because it was necessary. And because His Majesty willed it. To obey the Emperor's will is not treason." The Second Primarch's response was immediate.

"The Emperor wanted us to kill him?" Dukel mused. "Is that some kind of elaborate jest? No… wait. That might actually be possible."

—"A malignant tumor must be excised without hesitation."

The Emperor's words echoed in his mind.

At the time, Dukel had taken them as sanction to purge the Imperium's corrupt bureaucrats in blood.

But now, in hindsight… Who was the greatest affliction of the Imperium?

Petty tyrants and corrupt lords were but trivial parasites upon the Imperium's vast body.

The true affliction lay upon the Golden Throne.

"And Chaos? What role did the Ruinous Powers play in this?"

The Second Primarch scoffed. "Chaos? What of it?"

His words carried the arrogance of a man from an age untouched by the creeping ruin of the Warp.

"You never encountered daemons." Dukel realized. "Or rather, you never saw them for what they were."

Upon awakening on Ophelia VII, Dukel had been led to believe that the Second Primarch's downfall had been orchestrated by Chaos.

And yet, every piece of evidence, every so-called confirmation, had come from the mouths of daemons.

A guttural chuckle resounded through the void.

A hulking, simian-faced horror with massive bat wings emerged, its laughter dripping with malice.

—Khorne's Greater Daemon, Ka'bandha.

Dukel's mind raced. "In the original timeline, Ophelia VII should have been besieged by the Lords of Change. Yet, when I awoke, it was Khorne's hosts that lay siege to this world. That is an anomaly."

A Tzeentchian plot would have been evident. But Khorne's spawn? That lent an air of credibility.

After all, it was known across the Warp—Khorne's minions were not known for deception.

And so, Dukel had believed them.

"Tzeentch deceived me." Dukel murmured, his fists clenching in fury.

"He sought to lead you astray." The Second Primarch affirmed, his voice steady, "And for a time, he succeeded."

"No." Dukel's anger faded, replaced by a calm certainty. "We cannot presume to understand Tzeentch's true purpose. Even he may not know what he intends. Trying to decipher his schemes only puts us at a disadvantage, trapping us further in his web."

"Then what do you propose?"

"Simple. We ask the Emperor."

"The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. That's just like you."

"No, that's just like us." Dukel cast his gaze upon the man who had once dared to raise his blade against the Emperor.

The psychic world within the leaves of Caliban was rapidly collapsing.

Deep within the forests of Caliban, the Lion stirred. With sheer force of will, he pushed himself up, his powerful frame rising from the earth. Behind him, the soft sound of beating wings filled the air. A shadow passed overhead, and an ink-black raven landed, perching upon the thick shoulder plate of his armor.

"Both you and Dukel have grown stronger, Corvus," the Lion murmured, his voice carrying a note of weary admiration.

The Raven Lord's presence was as elusive as ever. Even now, despite focusing on every sound the forest carried, the Lion had not sensed his arrival.

"The same could be said for you, Leon," the Raven Lord replied in his usual hushed tone. His somber gaze held a weight of ages. "Ten thousand years have passed. The ideals we once held lie in ruins. The only comfort is that our years were not completely wasted."

The Lion's stern features betrayed a rare hint of exhaustion. "Corvus, I'm tired. Just ask your question."

The Raven tilted his head. "How do you know I have something to ask?"

A wry smile ghosted across the Lion's lips. "I have my brothers to thank for that. Every time one of you seeks me out, it's always to pry into secrets and uncover hidden truths. It's always the same."

The Raven disregarded the Lion's emotions and spoke plainly.

"I have one question I still don't understand. Why do you insist that Dukel once betrayed the Imperium?"

Among the Primarchs, Corvus had returned relatively late and had not personally witnessed the Battle of Randan. What he saw, however, was a Second Legion erased from history—its statues removed, its existence struck from records. And yet, the Emperor and the surviving Primarchs still held that the Second Primarch had remained loyal.

"You weren't there," the Lion said, his voice tinged with an old and lingering pain. His golden mane shifted slightly in the breeze as he recalled something best left forgotten.

"If you had witnessed Dukel raising his blade against the Emperor, you would think as I do."

During the final confrontation between the Emperor and the Second Primarch, only he and Mortarion had borne witness to the bloody clash. What Mortarion had felt that day, none could say.

But the Lion had never forgotten. The shock had never faded.

The Raven fell into silence. Even these few words, sparse and measured, carried a weight that left him shaken.

After a long pause, Corvus finally spoke. "There must be a deeper truth behind all of this—something neither you nor I understand." He exhaled slowly, then continued, "I do not doubt you, Leon. I simply struggle to imagine what it would mean for Courage to turn against Humanity."

The Lion opened his mouth to respond.

But at that moment—

Boom!

Crimson fire erupted into the sky, and a scorching wave of heat rolled through the dense forest.

Dukel stirred.

The Lion and the Raven immediately fell silent, their gazes snapping toward their awakening brother. Tension crackled in the air as they watched his every movement.

Dukel did not hesitate. He strode forward, his massive frame cutting through the twilight of Caliban's forests. Without breaking stride, he reached the edge of a seemingly placid river and stepped into the water, his iron-shod foot sinking into its depths.

"Wait, Dukel!"

"Beware the darkness beneath the river!"

The Lion and the Raven called out, their voices urgent. Moving as one, they threw themselves forward, attempting to pull their brother back to the safety of the riverbank.

But in the space of a heartbeat—

Bang! Bang!

Two demigods were flung aside with casual brutality.

They landed hard upon the riverbank, the impact leaving deep furrows in the earth. Corvus struggled to rise, intending to charge forward once more, but the Lion's firm grip held him back.

"Forget it," the Lion said grimly. "Just as it was ten thousand years ago, once Dukel has set his will upon something, neither you nor I can stop him."

"But—"

The Raven's keen eyes swept across the river's surface. Beneath its deceptive calm, a tide of shadow moved—thousands of inky silhouettes surging toward Dukel.

And Dukel saw them.

Yet he did not stop.

Fire wreathed his form as he advanced, his steps swift as a meteor's descent. Where he walked, darkness was crushed beneath his heel. Wails of unseen things echoed across the water's surface. The abyss recoiled from his passage.

The silence of the river shattered.

More layers of darkness rippled outward, reaching toward him. The deeper he ventured, the greater the weight pressing upon him. And yet, his momentum did not falter. His will was unbreakable. Even the elusive shadows, things not meant to be touched by mortal hands, scattered before him.

Red fire ignited the water.

"I am the eternal flame of the Holy Imperium."

"The unyielding traveler in the land of primordial truth."

"The wheel that turns ever forward."

Darkness thickened before him, vast and oppressive—enough to break even the mightiest warriors.

But there was no fear in Dukel's eyes.

Only resolve.

His bright gaze cut through the veil of shadow, piercing time itself. At the end of his sight, he saw a figure—

The Second Primarch, ten thousand years ago, raising his blade and roaring:

"Go forth! In this realm of spirit, no will can halt our advance!"

Just twenty-two steps.

Boom!—

The void itself thundered with the force of Dukel's march.

Behind him, the river ignited, leaving a trail of red fire in his wake.

His will trampled all that lay before him. The darkness broke.

Dukel reached the canoe at the river's center, standing now a single body's length from its occupant. He drew his sword with deliberate precision, the cold gleam of its blade reflecting in the black water. Without hesitation, he leveled the tip at the King seated within the vessel.

"Tell me, King. Do you anticipate this?"

The moment was perfect.

The sight of Dukel raising his sword now overlapped with the vision of the Second Primarch striking at the Emperor ten millennia past.

This moment was that moment.

Waves rose from the once-still river, rolling with an unseen will. They crashed against the ancient canoe, dislodging the thick layers of blackened mold that had coated its hull for eons.

Like an unmoving relic untouched by time, the vessel now trembled.

And for the first time in ten thousand years, so did the King.

The King turned his head. Hollow eyes flickered with the reflection of flames. A long-lost emotion surfaced in his gaze—approval.

A slow, stiff smile spread across his face, pale and withered like the grin of a corpse.

The Lion saw it and felt something bitter rise within him—an emotion both alien and familiar.

Envy.

Jealousy.

"Why?" the Lion asked, voice hoarse with unspoken resentment. "Why does Dukel so easily earn the King's favor… when all he has done is crash through with brute force?"

The Raven stood frozen, still attempting to make sense of the incomprehensible scene before him. The Lion's question pulled him from his thoughts, but no answer came to his lips.

For in that moment, the world had changed.

"I don't understand it either."

Corvus was shocked to see that he could be praised for drawing his weapon against the Emperor.

After hearing his words, the Liontook a deep breath and said, "But I am sure that something big will happen when Dukel returns to Terra this time. I will also return as soon as possible, and I hope that everything will not turn out badly."

"Krax, come back with us. Brother, let's go to the palace of Terra to meet our common father. The empire needs our strength now."

The Lion looked at the Raven with extremely sincere eyes. In today's declining empire, the power of every Primarch is so important.

"Allow me to refuse. I have voluntarily thrown myself into the shadow. I only do what I should do." The raven shook its head slowly, flapped its wings and flew away, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

A crow feather fell from the air and landed in the lion's hand.

"The crows have nowhere to go."

Dukel returned to the river bank, not caring at all that the calm river water was stirred into chaos by him.

"It is indeed time to return to Terra."

He muttered to himself and looked forward.

When he came into this world, his path was destined to be full of blood.

He saw blood and flesh spreading the red carpet, bones overlapping to build the foundation, stars igniting the flames of war, and the empire in turmoil.

That was his return to Terra.

This time, he will transform himself into a savior, and personally cut out the rot and decay within the empire.

Until he slashed at the Emperor with the sword that he had never struck ten thousand years ago.

The empire will not collapse because of this.

The Emperor will not die because of this.

They will only get rid of their stubborn illness and become stronger once again.

Dukel looked towards the end of the road, where the Second Primarch from ten thousand years ago was also standing there quietly.

When he, a lonely soul from a foreign land, set foot on this destined bloody road, when he raised his fists to fight all the darkness, he could always see that at the end of this bloody red carpet, the second Primarch ten thousand years ago also drew out his sword. They stared at each other and smiled at each other.

Of course, that's not me.

But, isn't that me?

The Emperor of Mankind uses his endless desire and the courage of all people to forge eternity. What name this desire has is of little importance.