Warhammer: Primarch's Life from the Beginning

Amidst the surging waves of the warp, the realm of Khornea unfolds.

Khorne, the Blood God, sat atop a throne crafted from sculpted brass, gazing down upon a mountain composed of countless heads. His plans had failed; this was not his destined fate.

Beneath the brass throne lay an endless, terrifying pile of spoils—the heads of His demons and their slain enemies. These skeletons came from different eras, different worlds, and different races. There were humans, aliens, and ancient, extinct intelligent species; no one could count the number of species within them.

They are piled together, like a war history written in death, symbolizing all the glory under His command.

But He was not satisfied.

This war against the false emperor should have been grander and more exhilarating. It should have been a time when Terra cried out in blood and fire, its walls strewn with the bones of its loyalists, and the entire human empire heard its own laughter.

It was that person who did it! It was that fake emperor who cheated by hiding a pawn in his sleeve and ruined his plans!

Failed demons are returning to the Demon Realm in droves.

They tumbled from the rifts and waves of blood, their bodies bearing the burn marks left from their exile. Some were missing limbs, others had their faces burned through, and they lay prostrate on the ground, not daring to glance at the throne.

The surrounding creatures showed them no mercy, cursing, laughing, mocking, and the sound of axes striking shields rose and fell, like a humiliation specifically for the defeated.

The three archdemons who had retreated from Terra knelt before the throne, their heads bowed low, their voices urgent and hoarse.

They begged for forgiveness, for new wars, for the chance to lead their armies into battle again. They said they could offer their masters more worlds, more heads, more burning cities, if only they could have one more chance.

The giant claw on the brass throne finally moved.

He simply raised one finger.

In the next instant, space and time seemed to be crumpled like thin paper, and the entire Demon Realm trembled. The noisy sea of ​​demons beneath the throne first fell silent, then exploded with a bang. Pop, bang, crack, they all merged into one, and groups of demons and great demons were crushed by this shockwave. Their flesh and armor shattered into waves that splashed in all directions, instantly turning into a surging lake of blood.

Skulls, broken horns, shattered armor, and broken weapons rolled into the blood, adding another layer of decoration to the already boundless land of bones.

Losers don't deserve to live.

.

.

The Golden Throne, Terra.

With the loss of the Great Demon's commander and the absence of altar reinforcements, each war zone entered the battlefield cleanup phase. The demons were slaughtered in despair, and the incineration and purification teams began their advance. Engineers and mechs dragged away the corpses and remains, while legal personnel walked back and forth beside the pools of blood with their record boards in hand.

The area that had been most severely damaged and had become an empty nest was eventually reclaimed by the Ultramarines.

The temporary fences in the other safe zones had just been removed, and the crowds hadn't fully recovered yet. Many were holding children, carrying tattered bags, and looking bewildered. They were told they could go home.

After staring blankly at the clergyman who delivered the order for a moment, the group of terrified people burst into tears.

In the crowd, the woman with the child first held the child tightly in her arms, and then followed the group to find her way home.

Just then, someone squeezed out from the crowd on the other side. His clothes were so dirty that you couldn't tell the color, his face was covered in ash and blood, and his voice was hoarse from shouting.

"Marlene!"

The woman turned around abruptly, her eyes instantly reddening.

Her husband rushed over, his legs trembling. He almost stumbled and fell to her. He first touched the child's head, then hugged her tightly, as if afraid that if he let go, she would be gone.

"I'm not dead." His voice trembled, yet it carried a hurried joy at surviving a close call. "I and the others were taken away by the political commissar of the Astral Army stationed elsewhere. He protected us behind the fortifications, otherwise we would all be dead."

The child was caught in the middle, calling out "Dad" intermittently.

.

The temporary command post in front of the Imperial Gate has begun to be dismantled.

Machine gunners carrying boxes walked back and forth beside them, while engineers dismantled communication cables and supports.

Leo sat in a corner of the empty command post, a spear stained with blood beside him.

Trajan walked over and sat down beside him, their armor clanging softly, and the two looked together at the view below the platform.

Leo handed the spear back.

Trajan took the weapon, glanced at the demon bloodstains still not wiped clean from the spear shaft, and spoke in a calm and serious tone.

"I haven't commanded such a brilliant battle in a long time."

He paused, his gaze falling on those who were still busy.

"The Empire truly needs a great victory at a time like this. Leo, you are a hero of the Empire."

Leo smiled after hearing this, but his shoulders didn't rise at all because of the praise.

"As a citizen of the Empire and as a Primarch, this is my duty."

Trajan looked at him, his gaze now filled with admiration.

"So what do you plan to do in the future?" he said. "A person like you, no matter what great achievements you make, is a blessing to the empire."

Leo looked away, remained silent for a moment, and ultimately said nothing more.

"I do have some plans," Leo said, turning to look into the depths of the palace. "But for now, I need to see the throne first."

Trajan nodded.

"After all, this is the purpose of your and Guilliman's trip to Terra. Now that the trouble here is resolved, it is indeed time to go and see your father. The Guardians will open the doors for you."

Clearly, it wasn't just these two old men who were happy.

More and more people gathered below the platform, many of them there specifically to pay homage to the Primarch. Some were still wearing work clothes, some were draped in blood-stained bandages, and some were even priests who had run all the way from the prayer room.

Leo caused such a stir in this war that many people consider him a living miracle.

Rumors of the Primarch potentially taking over the state religion spread far and wide. Several priests stood by the crowd, whispering about how to write a new biography. One of the older priests, chin in hand, muttered phrases like "the eldest son of the God-Emperor descends to slay demons." They wanted to determine Leo's place in the mythology in advance, preparing for his future arrival.

It's unclear who knelt down on the platform first.

Like a pebble dropped into water, people around them knelt down one after another. More and more people knelt on one knee, bowing their heads in reverence; even some soldiers who had just returned from the front lines followed suit. The battle nuns stood at the edge of the crowd, guiding those further away to join the pilgrimage, their voices solemn and fervent.

Looking at the sea of ​​people below, Leo felt no pride, but rather a complex mix of emotions.

They weren't actually kneeling to themselves.

Trajan turned to look at Leo.

"Aren't you going down and say something to them?"

Leo stood up, dusted off his leg armor, and turned to leave.

"There's no need," he said calmly. "The Leo they admire and yearn for is a great god, not me. This kind of faith may be helpful in dealing with the hardships they encounter later, which is fine, but I won't deliberately pander to it."

Trajan then stood up, squinted at Leo, and after a while asked in a low voice.

"You don't seem to enjoy these things. I originally thought that the imperial truth of the emperor had been extinct by now."

Leo, who was walking in front, raised his hand and gestured for him to be quiet, indicating that he should be careful with his words.

In the empire today, mentioning imperial truth is no different from heresy.

But no one noticed that Leo's lowered face held an uncontrollable smile, a kind of youthful brightness that formed a strange contrast with the blood-stained golden armor he wore.

Because he felt that all of this proved at least one thing.

History is not a monolithic entity.

Those tragedies that were destined to happen are not truly unchangeable.

Today, he stopped what should have been an apocalyptic war that would have devastated countless lives, and perhaps this hopeless universe can still be saved.

Hope remains.