Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

Facing the towering daemon before him, Dukel's first impression was that it resembled the Imperial Aquila reborn as a daemon. However, on closer inspection, he recognized it as Carlos, the ever-changing Lord of Change.

With the Great Daemon's arrival, an uncountable swarm of Tzeentch's lesser daemons emerged from the darkness, their presence a tide of shimmering insanity.

Once known as the Lord of Destiny, Carlos had been driven mad by its knowledge. It could recall the past and see fragments of the future but could not comprehend the present. This madness stemmed from the Well of Eternity, at the heart of the Warp itself, where even Tzeentch dared not tread. Carlos had been tricked into diving into the Well by Tzeentch, who sacrificed its lesser Lords of Change in pursuit of omniscience. Carlos alone had emerged, forever altered, with two heads: one speaking truth, the other lies.

"Since you know the future, Carlos," Dukel began, his tone sharp as steel. "Do you believe these chains can bind me?"

One head of Carlos immediately responded, its voice dripping with unearned certainty. "These chains are forged from your anger, faith, and hope. You cannot break them."

The other head paused before contradicting: "You will break free."

Dukel smirked. "Liar. Both of you."

As the Primarch advanced, the psychic chains binding him strained and groaned under the pressure, the noise building to a crescendo. His voice boomed with unyielding determination:

"Since my arrival in this existence, I've been a soldier crossing rivers of blood, a wheel of endless progress. I've neither sought enmity nor avoided battle. I've held no hope, yet saved countless lives. My flames burn not from rage but to purify countless souls."

The chains quivered under his declaration, on the brink of snapping.

"You know why, Carlos? Because I move forward, and you're in my way. That's reason enough to crush you."

With those words, the chains shattered, disintegrating into shards of psychic energy. Carlos recoiled, one head beginning to mutter as the other screamed incoherently, "You're not the Second Primarch! What are you? Who are you?!"

Dukel laughed. "Everyone says you're insane, Carlos. I think you're the sanest of your kind."

"Madness recognizes its own kind?" Magnus' voice cut in, dripping with sarcasm. His severed head, secured at Dukel's waist, observed the scene with disdain.

"Perhaps," Dukel said, his smile widening. "But who listens to the ramblings of a madman?" He raised his chainsword, the teeth spinning with a bloodthirsty growl.

Carlos' twin heads bickered as they scrambled for coherence. The Great Daemon's limbs flailed wildly, its body swaying as if lost in a personal tempest. It didn't even notice the Primarch closing the distance. Just as the chainsword arced downward to decapitate the daemon, a shimmering crystal orb tumbled from Carlos' robes.

With a sickening crack, the orb exploded. From its center, a strange laughter echoed, and a cage of psychic energy sprang into existence, trapping Dukel mid-swing. The chainsword struck the cage, releasing an explosive shockwave, but the barrier remained intact.

Carlos, though thrown to the ground, rose in silence. It gestured to its daemonic horde, which unleashed a torrent of sorcerous attacks. These bypassed the cage effortlessly, each spell lashing against Dukel with precision.

"Magnus," Dukel growled, "break this damned spell."

Magnus' single eye illuminated with shifting hues. Runes and glyphs danced across the cage as the daemon prince deciphered the sorcery. "Ah, fascinating," Magnus muttered, enraptured by the Tzeentchian magic.

"How do we break it?" Dukel pressed.

"Well... you can't," Magnus admitted, grinning slyly. "Unless external force shatters it."

"Useless," Dukel muttered, slinging Magnus' head back to his waist.

"Wait!" Magnus pleaded. "Let me study it further. Brother, don't you want to escape?"

"No need," Dukel replied, his tone calm. "My intuition is far more reliable than prophecy."

Magnus sneered. "So you'll just sit here and wait for death?"

"Let's wager, then," Dukel said, his voice taking on a playful edge. "Within fifty seconds, this cage will break. If not, I'll free you. If it does, you'll aid me unconditionally next time."

Magnus scoffed. "Fifty seconds? Not even the greatest psykers can predict with such precision."

"I don't predict," Dukel said, his eyes piercing the shadows of the battlefield. He saw the torrent of Khorne berserkers surging toward them. Among them loomed Skarbrand, the Exiled One, a hulking figure of unparalleled rage.

The berserkers collided with Tzeentch's forces, their bloodlust scattering the ordered lines. Skarbrand charged, his twin axes carving through daemons as he roared, "The skull of the Primarch shall adorn the Brass Throne!"

Carlos' twin heads shrieked, their bickering drowned out by the berserker's ferocity. Skarbrand leapt, his mountainous form crashing into the cage.

BOOM!

The psychic prison shattered under the force, releasing a torrent of energy that consumed the battlefield in flames. Skarbrand was hurled backward, roaring in both pain and triumph.

Through the raging inferno, Dukel emerged, his armor gleaming and his chainsword roaring anew.

"Thank you," he said, his voice cutting through the chaos.

"—Skarbrand."

...

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