Warhammer 40k : Starting as a Primarch

When the warriors of the Second Legion returned from their first mission, Dukel stood before the window of his office, gazing at a row of neatly arranged Nurgle effigies, each grotesque idol carved in blasphemous likeness—from the Great Unclean Ones to the gibbering Nurglings. He fell into deep contemplation.

In this grim universe, relics and icons often carry unseen influences, yet within the realm of the psychic force field, their corruption was at least mitigated.

"Your Highness, do these not please you?" inquired Efilar, standing to his left.

"It's difficult to say."

"Weren't these crafted according to your specifications?" Shivara, standing to his right, asked with a knowing smile.

"Perhaps," Dukel admitted, offering no further comment.

Elsewhere, the Rogue Trader they had rescued lay unconscious. His ordeal had been severe, and his condition was dire. Even the Lord Regent himself, Roboute Guilliman, had visited him once—a rare gesture of significance. The upcoming celebration was not merely a commemoration of their hard-fought victory but also an announcement to the Imperium: the Second Primarch had returned.

Yet, upon his arrival at the medical chamber, Guilliman was met with grim news.

"This man is infected," the Apothecary reported, gesturing toward the comatose Rogue Trader. "Our instruments detect the seed of a daemon festering within him."

"His soul is tainted," the Apothecary continued gravely. "He is resisting the corruption with sheer will, but he cannot hold out indefinitely."

Dukel arrived shortly thereafter, accompanied by Magnus. Not for visitation, but because he had heard of a case of soul corruption and deemed it necessary to witness firsthand.

Through the observation panel, Dukel studied the patient—a rugged, middle-aged man, his body augmented with cybernetics, a veteran of many trials. Now, however, something vile gestated within him, seeking dominion over his very essence. His physical form was bound to a life-support apparatus, intravenous solutions cycling through his body in a futile attempt to stave off the creeping rot of the Immaterium.

"How long does he have?" Dukel asked.

The Apothecary hesitated before answering, his voice betraying resignation. "At most, a month. We can purge the disease from his flesh, but we lack the means to heal his soul."

Warp-taint was a curse beyond mere physiology—no simple treatment could cleanse what had been touched by the Great Enemy. Even psychic power could not wholly expel the corruption.

"Perhaps I can assist," Dukel mused. "Or rather, that is why I am here. We have been developing a device capable of projecting one's consciousness into another's soul-space. It is a perilous undertaking. Should the traveler fail to return in time, they risk being lost in the void between the Immaterium and reality—a place from which none have yet been retrieved."

He paused before adding, "Even Sanguinius nearly succumbed to such a fate ten thousand years ago. If one as radiant as he was almost irrecoverable, a mortal soul lost in that abyss would be like a single ember vanishing in the night."

Though Dukel and his research team had made strides in this field, they had yet to achieve a breakthrough—aside from the creation of the device itself.

"So, if someone were to enter his soul-space, they might purge the daemon's influence?" Guilliman asked, his analytical mind already considering the implications.

The Apothecary's eyes gleamed with reverence. If such technology could be harnessed, it might save countless souls from damnation. In past campaigns, entire worlds had been subjected to Exterminatus due to large-scale Warp contamination. Even the mere possibility of redemption through this device was staggering.

"Dukel, has this technology been tested? How many have lost themselves to it?" Guilliman pressed.

Dukel deliberated before answering. "Twenty-one. We used condemned criminals as test subjects. Each was reduced to an empty husk."

Guilliman's breath caught. Only twenty-one? By Imperial standards, where trillions perished daily in the great engine of war, this was an insignificant number. But then a realization struck him, prompting a wary follow-up question.

"How many tests in total?"

Dukel turned to his brother, momentarily perplexed. "Twenty-one. Each attempt resulted in failure."

Guilliman fell silent, suddenly aware of his brother's true purpose for visiting this ward.

"Your Highness, allow me to be the next subject."

The hoarse voice cut through the chamber. Guilliman turned sharply toward the source and saw a gaunt, mutated psyker in the adjacent ward.

This was the Navigator who had, at great personal cost, guided the Second Legion's fleet through the storms of the Warp to salvation. His body was ravaged—large sections of flesh had been surgically removed, his lower torso a hollow cavity sustained entirely by machinery. Only the advanced medical technology of the Imperium had kept him clinging to life.

His respiratory system had been replaced, his circulatory functions were artificially maintained. Pale skin clung to brittle bones, his once-lustrous hair now reduced to dry, falling strands. His empty sockets—where his Warp-mutated eyes had been excised—gazed blindly toward the Primarchs.

"Your Highness, I volunteer," he rasped. "Not merely for my Lord Captain, but for the Imperium. My life should have ended already. If I may serve one last time, let me do so for this cause."

Dukel stepped forward, his towering form casting a long shadow over the Navigator's frail body.

"What is your name, child?" he asked.

"Varo, Your Highness. My name is Varo."

"Very well, Varo." Dukel inclined his head solemnly. "If this experiment succeeds, I shall restore your body. Furthermore, this instrument shall bear your name. Would that honor you?"

Tears welled in Varo's hollow sockets. "It would be my greatest honor."

Dukel's expression remained impassive, but within, he was pleased. The threshold between reality and illusion had long remained unexplored, an uncharted region even among the vast mysteries of the Warp.

He held a suspicion—one that had lingered since Sanguinius' fall. If his shattered soul had scattered into the aether, it might have drifted into this liminal void.

Whether to reclaim lost souls or to push the Imperium's understanding of the Immaterium forward, this experiment would mark a turning point.

And Varo, with his unwavering resolve, would be the perfect guide into the abyss.

"Then let us proceed, Varo," Dukel said, his voice tinged with the weight of fate. "For the Imperium. And for the lost."

...

Check out my Patreon for +30 extra chapters on all my fanfics! ​

[[email protected]/LordMerlin]

Thank you for your support!