Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

Carlos' dark and silent world, once a paradise for humanity, had been reduced to a blood-soaked ruin. Demons had slaughtered every inhabitant, leaving only decaying corpses strewn along the shattered roads, their dried blood an enduring testament to the horrors unleashed.

Amid the ruins of human cities, a warband led by a ferocious Bloodthirster of Khorne rampaged, driven by the singular goal of locating the elusive Primarch. Yet, scouring an entire planet to find one deliberately concealed figure was akin to searching for a single grain of sand in an endless desert.

None among the daemon horde could fathom that the Primarch had sent his legion away, arriving alone to answer the gods' call.

Without the constraints of his legion, the Primarch had become a phantom, vanishing into the darkness of the ruined world. Like a venomous predator, he struck from the shadows, harrying his foes with calculated brutality. The constant assaults left the daemons uneasy—a predator's roles reversed. If they required rest, they would be forced to sleep with weapons clutched tightly in hand.

"Careful!"

The sharp cry cut through the oppressive silence.

Immediately, the daemons rallied around their Bloodthirster, the towering figure gripping its mighty axe with barely restrained fury. For days, this voice had haunted them, heralding death with unsettling accuracy. Whenever it sounded, death followed.

"Left!"

The warning echoed again, and the warband instinctively shifted its focus. They had learned to heed the call—terrifying as it was, it never lied.

Khorne's champions surged into the dark ruins to the left. Moments later, they stumbled upon a grisly scene: the mangled remains of their kin lay scattered across the crumbling streets. Demons and cultists alike had been torn apart as though crushed by an immense, unstoppable force.

Fresh blood pooled beneath the carnage, steam rising faintly in the cool air. The Bloodthirster knelt, dipping its claws into the still-warm ichor. The reality of the slaughter burned in its mind—this massacre had occurred right under its nose.

"Coward! Show yourself and face me!"

The Bloodthirster's roar reverberated through the ruins. Though Khorne's followers did not fear death, the helplessness that plagued them now stoked their rage to unbearable levels.

"Behind you!"

The voice cried out again, urgent and mocking. Screams followed almost immediately, their source no more than a few hundred meters away.

In an instant, the Bloodthirster charged toward the sound. Yet when it arrived, it found only the broken remains of its warband, their bodies reduced to mangled heaps.

"Above!"

The Bloodthirster raised its head, as did the surviving daemons.

What they saw filled even the most bloodthirsty among them with dread: a towering figure, its armor wreathed in flame, plummeted toward them with a fiery chainsword raised high. The Primarch descended like a comet, igniting the darkness with unrelenting fury.

The flaming blade roared to life, cleaving through the daemonic ranks with unbridled power. The Primarch's every movement was a blur of destruction, his strikes splitting demons apart with surgical precision.

Amid the carnage, blood and ichor rained down like a macabre storm. Wherever the chainsword swung, ruin followed. The daemonic horde crumbled, unable to withstand the ferocity of their foe.

The Bloodthirster's rage peaked. With a thunderous roar, it raised its massive battle axe, prepared to challenge the fiery warrior head-on. Yet, in a flash, the flaming figure was behind it.

"Magnus, shut your cursed mouth before I sew it shut myself!"

"Brother, I'd oblige if you'd shut down this infernal force field! I'm practically being cooked alive here!"

"No. You're still being picky."

The flame-cloaked Primarch continued his relentless advance. The Bloodthirster, its axe still raised, never had the chance to strike. In an instant, its body shattered like brittle stone, falling apart into lifeless chunks.

For the first time in eons, the daemon felt fear—true, primal fear. It realized that its defeat would mean more than mere banishment to the Immaterium; this time, it faced eternal extinction.

Each slain demon further fueled the Primarch's growing power. With every kill, threads of Warp energy seeped into his being, bolstering his already formidable strength. In this lost world teeming with daemons, his might grew with each passing moment.

Magnus, reduced to a disembodied head hanging from the Primarch's waist, groaned in frustration.

"Dukel, I swear, if you don't deactivate this force field, I'll—wait, never mind, I can't even threaten you properly!"

"Keep quiet, Magnus," Dukel replied, exasperated.

The psychic barrier enveloping them was no trivial matter. It suppressed Magnus' powers, severing his connection to Tzeentch, and concealed their presence from the daemons hunting them. Without it, carrying Magnus would have been akin to walking with a beacon strapped to his back.

Still, the sight of smoke rising from Magnus' head was almost too much for Dukel to bear without laughing.

As Dukel stepped forward, a brilliant azure glow erupted from the ground. Psychic runes flared to life, forming a web of chains that snared the Primarch in an instant.

"I have seen your fate. You are destined for annihilation."

The dual voices reverberated through the air as a hunched figure emerged. Beneath its flowing robes, its avian form bristled with chaotic energy. Two heads, each resembling a bird of prey, spoke in unison.

It was none other than Kairos Fateweaver, Tzeentch's chosen oracle and the Master of Destiny.

...

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