Chapter 1: I am the eleventh Primarch?
ON Terra, deep within the Imperial Palace, there was a heavily guarded prison cell. Ancient, dangerous things were locked up here with complex tech. The black stone walls had carved symbols meant to keep whatever was inside from ever getting out, things that could threaten the Imperium if they were to get out.
At the far end was a huge door with just one thing written on it: XI.
"Know your enemy." Francis raised the golden chalice with mock ceremony. "Cheers to genetic experimentation."
Francis raised the golden chalice and drained it in one gulp. The thick, metallic liquid made him grimace, though weirdly, some part of him already wanted more.
Genetic information flooded his system like crazy.
Ork genes. Enjoys... gretchin tickles? Born under green skies, where toxic air tastes faintly sweet...
The mess of alien memories made Francis want to skip ahead. Until two massive ork heads appeared in his mind, yelling together:
"WAAAGH!"
Before Francis could think, his arms swelled up big, getting the brutal muscle of an ork. Pure instinct kicked in, and he found himself roaring back: "WAAAGH!"
When he snapped back to reality, Francis stared at his hands in confusion. Without thinking about it, he'd somehow put together several pieces of scrap metal, and now the thing was floating in mid-air, breaking every law of physics he knew.
"By the Emperor's Shit... what the fuck was that?"
This was more shocking than getting transported here in the first place. He could actually get alien abilities by drinking their blood!
Yeah, you heard that, I, Francis, have definitely been sent to another world.
And not just any world, it's Warhammer 40k, yeah, I'm a littlle bit fucked up.
Half a month ago, he'd been watching news about the successful launch of Horus II. He'd made a joke to his roommate: "Hope the Four Gods don't notice it."
Guess what, looks like they did and decided tofuck me over, next thing he knew, he was here.
He'd climbed out of a broken stasis pod with "Subject_XI" written on the lid.
"Can't be that much of a coincidence, right?"
At first, he thought this was just a crazy Warhammer dream from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Until a really warm, fatherly presence spoke in his mind:
"How curious... You have returned to us at last. Yet what became of that essence which once dwelt within this vessel?"
That golden presence, definitely the Emperor of Mankind. The guy who made twenty demigod sons to conquer the galaxy.
"Forgive me, most revered Emperor, but I don't understand your meaning."
Francis immediately dropped to one knee, trying to look respectful. Better safe than sorry when dealing with an unknown, years-old psychic god-emperor.
"Hmm? Emperor hummed. "You no longer call me Father?"
Francis's heart started pounding. "I remember nothing from before waking in that pod. Who am I supposed to be?"
"You are my son. Francis Krick, the Eleventh Primarch, Master of the Soul Drinkers Legion."
The words hit Francis like a truck to the head. What had he just heard?
Father? Emperor? The Eleventh Primarch, one of the missing legions,, the lorewas always kept secret?
Everyone who knew Warhammer knew the Emperor had created twenty Primarchs to lead humanity's conquest of the galaxy. Each one commanded huge armies of genetically-enhanced super soldiers.
And now Francis had apparently gotten both a father and hundreds of thousands of sons all at once. The kind of instant family that didn't need marriage, dating, or even basic social skills!
"Well, at least I don't have to worry about college funds for the kids," Francis muttered, patting his chest. Rock solid, just like he'd hoped.
Being a Primarch did have its perks. Some could handle hundreds of complex tasks at the same time. Others had crazy psychic powers that could crack planets. A few had wings that could carry them across battlefields. One was essentially immortal and reputedly made excellent barbecue.
"You seem to have merged with an essence unknown to me. I shall be investigating this phenomenon in due time."
Francis's heart sank. Had he just stolen the real Primarch's body like some kind of psychic parasite?
Or was this some trick by the... other powers? Maybe he'd always been Francis, and this was just the universe playing a really messed-up joke?
His thoughts were all over the place. "Understood, Father."
Silence stretched across the psychic link. Finally, the Emperor's voice came back, gentle but threatening:
"Tell me, my son, do you believe humanity can coexist peacefully with the xenos races?"
The question hit Francis like ice water down his spine, making him snap to attention. This was clearly a test. Fail, and he'd probably get "turned off" permanently.
Francis straightened up and replied with conviction: "No, Father. Every xenos species represents an existential threat to humanity's survival."
Apparently, he'd passed. The fact that he wasn't immediately fried suggested he'd chosen right.
Over the next few days, court doctors and Legion Apothecaries ran every test they could think of. Some of them were women, which only made it more embarrassing.
"Holy hell, that's a long tube! Is this supposed to be some kind of endoscopy?"
"Ugh... you people... ugh..."
"I am... ugh... the Emperor's son!"
"I bled... ugh... for the Imperium!"
Francis kept writhing on the examination table, trying to find any position that might give him some relief from all the probes and instruments messing with him.
"Just relax, we're nearly finished with this round."
"Doc, I think you forgot the anaesthetic!"
"Don't worry, my lord Primarch, your physiology renders such measures unnecessary even for your reproductive glands.""
Under these merciless doctors, he suffered the pain he never imagined he would suffer, these monsters.
The doctors personally taught by the Emperor couldn't care less about stripping a Primarch's dignity, and continued documenting everything:
Appearance: Normal
Internal organs: Working great
Brain activity: Better than normal but stable
Genetic variance: Way higher than usual
Francis cried real tears of regret, no longer sure he wanted to exist in this reality.
Most interesting, save for these certain... alterations to your fundamental nature... all readings appear satisfactory," the Emperor mused during one of their mental conversations, leaving Francis confused but feeling totally violated by the whole experience.
During quiet moments, the Emperor would sometimes talk with him casually, apparently checking various details about the state of the galaxy. Through these conversations, Francis managed to learn about the current timeline.
The civil war, the catastrophic Horus Heresy, hadn't started yet. Humanity still had hope for a golden future among the stars.
Let's fucking GOOO!! 'cough' 'cough', Now where was I? Oh yeah, my situation.
Well, it's complicated. For his own mysterious past, he got frustratingly very few details. Francis only knew that his abilities had somehow been dramatically boosted after some incident that everyone seemed reluctant to talk about.
'I just hope I did not fuck with xeno in the name of interspecies culture exchange.'
Now, what was he doing currently?
Case in point: drinking orc blood had actually given him access to their most ridiculous "reality-bending" power! The same psychic field effect that lets orks make their junk technology work through sheer collective belief.
Back to the present moment, Francis watched his hands slowly go back to normal human size. Even shouting "WAAAGH!" now did absolutely nothing, the alien influence had already faded.
He gently lowered the scrap pile from its impossible floating position. When he tried to make it hover again through pure concentration, nothing happened; it had gone back to being ordinary junk, subject to normal physics.
Clearly, he didn't fully understand how his new abilities worked yet. The effects seemed temporary, somehow tied to having foreign genetic material active in his system.
Luckily, his beloved father had started sending a steady stream of biological materials for experiments. The ork blood had been one such sample he'd specifically requested, along with tissue specimens from various other species.
Without these regular deliveries, this dark cell would drive even a Primarch's enhanced mind crazy through sheer isolation and boredom.
Compared to the chamber's initial state, containing only mysterious technical blueprints and empty stasis pods, it was now much more lively. Golden chalices sat in both corners, along with various other research tools and specimen containers.
These mainly were devices for genetic analysis; he just wanted to get familiar with this reality's artefacts before his eventual release, it's not like he was trying to recreate an iconic Iron Man scene in here.
Francis definitely wasn't the type to arrange power armour components under his bed while sleeping, no matter what the surveillance records might suggest.
Just as he wondered what exotic species would provide the next batch of blood and tissue samples, heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor outside, along with the distinctive clank of blessed auramite plate armour.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
"Francis. Your requested specimens have arrived."
Constantin Valdor's unmistakable voice carried easily through the psychic barrier, magnetic, commanding, radiating absolute authority even without seeing him. The Captain-General of the Legio Custodes, the Emperor's own chosen guardian, spoke.
"Constantin." Francis kept his tone deliberately casual despite the circumstances. "Any word on when I might be released from this place?"
Francis watched as the towering figure in golden armour placed fresh samples into a specialised containment vessel of polished black stone, then used ritual tools to pass the container safely through the chamber's psychic ward barrier.
"That knowledge rests with the Emperor alone, as is proper. Only He may determine when you shall be deemed safe for release."
As he spoke, the wariness never left Constantin Valdor's bearing. Francis could practically feel the Custodian's readiness to strike with lethal precision at the first sign of any threat.
"The Emperor is facing genuine threats right now, Constantin. Release me, and I can help solve his problems instead of rotting in here uselessly."
Constantin's gaze grew noticeably colder beneath his ornate golden helm. "Indeed. Your very existence represents one of the most considerable dangers our Master currently faces."
Francis stared in genuine disbelief.
This was Constantin Valdor, First of the Ten Thousand, the Emperor's own Shield, Captain-General of the Custodian Guard, most elite protector of the Master of Mankind himself.
And he was treating the Emperor's own son like a dangerous wild animal that might need to be put down at any moment.
The more Francis thought about it, the more irritated he became. Fine. If they wanted to treat him like a lab rat, he might as well play the part. He grabbed the sample container and began drinking its contents with deliberate casualness.
This batch tasted significantly better than the ork blood had. Though it left his mouth slightly numb, the texture was surprisingly smooth, with a faint herbal aftertaste that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
Now he just had to wait and see what new abilities he'd temporarily get this time.
[End of Chapter]
___________
Yoho !! New day, new fic.
I really hope you guys like it.
Make sure to give honest feedback in comments. I live for your comments so I can improve or correct anything and everything in all my works.
Thank you for reading here.