warhammer 40k · primarch · transhuman · space marine · great crusade · tragic hero · superhuman strength · military leader · dark fantasy · imperial
The sky above the war-torn world bled a sickly orange, choked with ash and the smoke of a thousand burning cities. The ground, once a rolling plain, was now a churned morass of mud and blood, littered with the broken bodies of Imperial Guardsmen, the ceramite shells of Loyalist and Traitor Space Marines alike, and the twisted remains of Daemons. The air itself hummed with the psychic residue of the conflict, a dissonant choir of rage and agony. At the heart of this carnage, the demigods of a bygone age clashed. Lion El'Jonson's blade rang against Angron's axe, a shower of sparks illuminating their snarling faces. Magnus the Red's spear crackled with warp-light as he drove Roboute Guilliman back, while Leman Russ howled like a beast as he tore into Fulgrim. You, a lost Primarch of the 2nd…