Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

Amid the desperate cries of the Imperium's defenders, the Adepta Sororitas, the Custodes, and even the Grey Knights of the Regent's Legion stood unwavering before the Daemon Primarch.

Unfortunately, even Sister Efilar, whose presence shone with the brilliance of a Living Saint, was no match for Fulgrim. Under the combined assault of multiple Greater Daemons, she was swiftly struck down by a potent sorcerous attack from the Lord of Change.

Efilar was hurled hundreds of meters away, her body crystallizing as arcane energies coursed through her form. The psychic shielding she bore had saved her life, but she would be unable to rejoin the battle any time soon.

The divide between mortals and demi-gods was too vast, and Fulgrim was among the deadliest of his fallen brothers. Even those blessed by the Emperor and ascended as Living Saints could only contend with him for fleeting moments. The Custodians and the Grey Knights, warriors honed to combat the forces of the Warp, struggled to halt the advance of the Daemon Primarch.

Worse still, he was flanked by Skarbrand, the Exiled One, and Kairos Fateweaver, the Oracle of Tzeentch.

In mere moments, Fulgrim closed the distance to Dukel.

The Primarch had yet to awaken from his battle within the immaterial realm of Khorne—

All around, the forces of the Imperium surged forward.

Custodes, Space Marines, Krieg Death Korps, and countless Astra Militarum soldiers threw themselves at the Daemon Primarch, willing to die in a futile bid to slow his advance.

But they could not stop him. Fulgrim swung the venomous blade Laer's Bane in a lethal arc, aimed straight at Dukel's throat.

"Your Highness!" Efilar cried out, her crystalline limbs struggling to move. The stalwart Battle Sister, always composed, let out a desperate, hoarse plea.

The counterattack of the Imperium's warriors grew ever more frenzied, their zealotry reaching its peak. But the more furiously they fought, the deeper their despair became.

They knew that should both loyalist Primarchs fall here, the embers of hope for the Imperium would be extinguished once more.

And then, amidst their despair—

A deep, resonating hum filled the air.

Though unconscious, Dukel suddenly moved. The chainsword in his grasp roared to life, carving a crimson arc through the battlefield.

With a sickening shriek, Fulgrim recoiled, his arm severed cleanly at the elbow. The cursed fire of the weapon clung to the wound, gnawing at his very essence. His agonized scream was cut short as a thunderous fist smashed into his form, sending him sprawling.

Dukel seized Fulgrim's serpentine tail, hoisting the Daemon Primarch high before bringing him crashing down onto his knee.

A gruesome crack rang out.

The force of the impact shattered Fulgrim's spine. Jagged bone tore through his daemonic flesh, protruding grotesquely into the open air.

Every bone in Fulgrim's body had been pulverized.

Lying in a twisted heap, the once-proud Daemon Primarch attempted to slither away, but his broken body betrayed him. He could not move.

"Impossible…" Fulgrim murmured, realization dawning in his dazed, pain-filled eyes.

Now, he understood. Now, he knew why, despite being ensnared within a grand illusion crafted by Slaanesh itself, Dukel had effortlessly slaughtered an entire host of Daemonettes.

Even without conscious thought, even when his mind was lost to the Immaterium, Dukel's body moved with instinctual precision, guided by an unrelenting will.

A mocking laugh echoed nearby.

"Hahahaha! Fulgrim, you only see it now? Brother, didn't I warn you long ago?" Magnus the Red cackled, hanging from Dukel's waist in spectral form.

"You let your arrogance blind you once again, Fulgrim. Each time I think your hubris has cost you everything, you find a way to prove me wrong." Magnus sneered, his crimson eye gleaming. "Look at yourself. My proud Phoenix, lying there like a broken serpent. What will you become when we meet again?"

Magnus's derision, tinged with years of scorn, struck deep. This was vengeance for every jibe Fulgrim had thrown his way.

A wet cough erupted from the downed Daemon Primarch. Blood, thick with Warp energy, spilled from his lips as his eyes rolled back. Overcome by humiliation, Fulgrim fell into unconsciousness.

At that moment, Dukel stirred.

The Immaterium did not adhere to the passage of realspace time. Though he had waged war for countless years within Khorne's domain, only twenty-two minutes had passed in the material world.

And upon returning, the first sight he beheld was Fulgrim, collapsed in disgrace, choking on his own blood.

"Huh? Fulgrim? What happened to him?" Dukel's voice cut through the battlefield.

Magnus scoffed. "Who knows? Perhaps he simply tripped over his own arrogance."

"Oh? Is he actually dumber than you?" Dukel mused aloud.

Magnus bristled but wisely chose silence. With an indignant huff, he muttered, "I refuse to dignify that with a response."

Uninterested in prolonging the exchange, Dukel turned his attention to the battlefield. Fulgrim, now irrelevant, was abandoned where he lay.

For in the distance, something far more pressing had captured Dukel's keen senses.

The Weaver of Fate, Kairos, was channeling a massive surge of Warp energy.

The Lord of Change was preparing to rip open the fabric of reality, seeking escape.

And he carried with him the knowledge that could lead to the salvation of Roboute Guilliman.

Dukel could not allow him to flee.

He surged forward, but he knew—

He was too late.

The Tzeentchian sorcerer had begun his ritual long before Dukel awoke. No matter how fast the Primarch moved, he could not reach him in time.

Just as frustration threatened to overtake him—

A furious bellow tore through the battlefield.

Skarbrand, the Exiled One, the berserk behemoth who had endured ceaseless fire from the Imperium's guns, acted with sudden, unexpected clarity.

Was it his own rage? Or was Khorne himself exacting vengeance on Tzeentch for some unseen slight?

None could say.

But in that instant, the blood-maddened daemon abandoned his assault on the Imperium's forces.

Instead, he leaped.

And brought his twin axes down upon Kairos Fateweaver.

A cataclysmic explosion erupted as the amassed Warp energy violently unraveled.

The battlefield was consumed in a maelstrom of psychic devastation. The force of the detonation sent both Greater Daemons hurtling through the air, their monstrous forms torn apart by the backlash of their own magics.

Dukel's lips curled into a rare smile.

"Thank you, Skarbrand."

The Bloodthirster could not hear the gratitude. His form, battered and broken, was consumed by the Imperium's relentless fire. His essence was banished back to the Warp.

But Dukel had no time to linger.

With relentless determination, he turned and pursued Kairos Fateweaver, who, though grievously wounded, yet lived.

...

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