[HEY If anyone wants to see the picture of the things that are described in this story go to the Scribble Hub version of this fanfic and search for this story. There should be picture or concept art that is embedded into the story. And if you are already here then Thank you and please enjoy this chapter.]
This work is purely fanfiction and doesn't have any relation to the property of Marvel Comics.
I don't own Marvel Comics, DC, or any mentioned media in this Fic.
All rights are reserved to those Companies.
Rated M, 18 and Above for Violent and Sexual Content.
…
…
…
DC X Marvel: The Lost Primarch of the Amazon.
…
…
…
In the grim darkness of the Warhammer 30k Universe, a cataclysmic event propels Yeong Maxwell—formerly an ordinary individual from our world and now the Primarch of the 11th Legion—into an extraordinary new realm: a chaotic blend of the DC and Marvel Universes. Accompanied by his sister Bora, reborn as a powerful Amazonian warrior, the pair embark on a series of remarkable adventures spanning from ancient times to the present day. From battling mythical creatures to facing off against alien invaders and warring with sinister deities, the siblings forge a new path, seeking purpose in their newfound roles while striving to protect their odd and extraordinary new world.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
=The main protagonist profile and The Personal log of a Primarch.=
[The Main protagonist profile]
Name: Yeong Maxwell
Occupation:
Former:
US National Guard
Police Deputy
Aegis Suprema of Moana IV
Supreme Commander of the Astra Phantom Space Marine Legion
The Emperor's Taskmaster
Current:
Semi-retired adventurer
Teacher, writer, and inventor
Close advisor to the Themysciran Royal Family
Primarch and Chapter Master of the Astra Phantom Space Marine Legion
Age:
At Time of Death: 25
After Rebirth: Unknown
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Afro-Asian (Korean-African American Mix)
Race:
Former: Human
Current: Primarch
Physical Attributes:
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Dark Brown
Skin Color: Mocha
Height: 7'7" (2.3 m)
Weight: 300 lb (136 kg)
Build:
Former: Fit and athletic
Current: Strongman physique
Relationship Status: Complex and multifaceted
Citizenship:
Former: The Imperium of Man
Current: Themyscira
Languages Spoken:
Fluent in English, Korean, Spanish, French, German, and numerous others
Skills and Abilities
Combat Mastery:
Supreme expertise in hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, and firearms
Mastery of asymmetric warfare, special operations, and unconventional tactics
Leadership and Strategy:
Exceptional tactical and battlefield leadership
Renowned for his ability to adapt to ever-changing conditions, often succeeding in impossible missions
Technological Prowess:
Mastery of Necron technology
Genius-level intellect with unparalleled skill in invention and engineering
Superhuman Attributes:
Strength, speed, durability, stamina, reflexes, and senses beyond mortal limits
Accelerated thought processes and rapid situational analysis
Regeneration and extended longevity
Immunity to disease, poisons, mind control, and terror
Survival and thriving in the vacuum of space
Specialized Abilities:
Omni-Aura: Command over a god-like aura capable of manifesting any desired effects, from inspiring allies and instilling hope to overwhelming enemies with fear or bending reality itself to his will.
Aqua Respiration: Ability to breathe underwater
Night Vision: Enhanced sight in darkness
Self-Sustenance: Can endure extended periods without food, water, or rest
Background:
Born in 1999 alongside his twin sister Bora in rural Alaska, USA, Yeong Maxwell grew up in a tight-knit community shaped by simplicity and resilience. His determination and sense of duty led him to serve in the US National Guard and later as a police deputy in his hometown. Tragically, his life was cut short at 25 during a line-of-duty incident.
Fate, however, intervened in a way no one could predict. Yeong's soul was reborn into the grim Warhammer 30,000 universe as the Primarch of the 11th Space Marine Legion, the Astra Phantom. Despite being the smallest among the Primarchs and often feeling like an outsider among his brethren, Yeong became a paragon of leadership, martial prowess, and ingenuity.
Under his command, the Astra Phantom earned a reputation as an elite and versatile force, excelling in complex, asymmetric missions that others deemed impossible. Yeong's tactical brilliance and commitment to his legion inspired unparalleled loyalty. Yet, the endless wars and unspeakable horrors of the Warhammer universe left deep scars on his spirit. The weight of leadership, compounded by betrayal and the loss of countless lives, forged him into a figure of profound depth and resilience.
After a catastrophic betrayal within the Imperium and the near-annihilation of his legion, Yeong was mysteriously cast into an entirely different cosmos. He awoke on the shores of Amazonia in ancient Greece, where the Amazons of Themyscira granted him sanctuary and a new purpose. Free from the relentless wars of his past, Yeong began to rebuild both himself and his shattered soul, reclaiming his humanity while forging a new legacy as a mentor, inventor, and close ally to the Themysciran Royal Family.
…
[The Secondary Supporting Protagonist Profile]
Name: Bora Maxwell
Occupation:
Former: Medical Student.
Current: Amazon Senior Chief Physician, Semi-retired Adventurer.
Age:
At Time of Death: 25
After Rebirth: Timeless (appears ageless in her Amazonian form)
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Afro-Asian (Korean-African American Mix)
Race:
Former: Human.
Current: Amazonian.
Physical Attributes:
Hair Color: Brown.
Eye Color: Emerald Green.
Skin Color: Mocha.
Height: 6'0" (1.83 m)
Weight: 220 lb (100 kg)
Build: Fit and athletic, exuding Amazonian strength and grace.
Relationship Status: Positive.
Citizenship: Themyscira.
Languages Spoken:
Fluent in English, Korean, Spanish, French, German, and various ancient dialects
Skills and Abilities:
Healing Expertise: Mastery of advanced medical techniques, combining modern science with Amazonian mysticism. Ability to heal wounds others deem fatal, using both surgical precision and magical remedies.
Combat Prowess: Expert in archery, swordsmanship, and hand-to-hand combat. Skilled in Amazonian martial arts, blending strength with agility.
Superhuman Attributes:
Enhanced Strength, speed, durability, stamina, senses, agility and reflexes.
Heightened intelligence and problem-solving abilities.
Immortality is granted by the blessings of the gods.
Background:
Bora Maxwell was born in 1999 alongside her twin brother, Yeong, in rural Alaska. While Yeong pursued a career in law enforcement, Bora followed a different calling: medicine. Her brilliance and empathy made her a prodigy in her field, with aspirations to revolutionize healthcare in underserved communities. However, her promising future came to an abrupt end sometime after her brother died.
But death was not the end. Bora awoke to a new life in ancient Greece, reborn as an Amazonian warrior on Amazonia. Guided by their goddess patrons, she quickly proved herself to be more than just a capable fighter. Bora's medical knowledge from her past life combined with the Amazons' mystical practices made her a healer and Physician, without equal. She rose through the ranks to become a promising Senior Chief Healer of the Amazon, revered for her ability to mend both physical and spiritual wounds.
Though she embraced her new Amazonian identity, Bora never forgot the compassion and humanity that defined her in her previous life. This duality gave her a unique perspective, allowing her to balance the Amazons' warrior ethos with her innate desire to preserve life.
Her tranquil existence on Amazonia changed forever when her long-lost twin, Yeong, crash-landed near their city.
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
**(Accessing 11th Legion Archive)**
Access code: Bravo-Sierra-Delta.
Voice Recognition activates.
Face Recognition activates.
-
-
-
Access granted.
User acknowledges: Yeong Maxwell the Primarch of the 11th legion.
-
-
-
(Welcome back, my lord. Please select a File for review.)
**Yeong Transcript Account and Log.**
=Begin Transcript=
Alright, let's try this again. The third time's the charm, right? I've checked and re-checked everything. The camera's red light is steady, waiting, almost expectant. It's time. No more excuses. No more hesitation.
Deep breath, Yeong. You can do this.
My name is Yeong Maxwell. What you're watching isn't just a video; it's a record—an account of events that altered the course of my life, and my sister Bora's, forever. I don't expect anyone to believe me. Honestly, there are days I struggle to believe it myself. But this needs to be said if only to help me make sense of it all.
Let's start at the beginning.
Bora and I were born on September 11, 1999. It's a date that carries weight—more so after 2001. Our birthdays were never simple, but they were memorable in their own way.
We grew up in a quiet town in rural Alaska, far removed from the chaos of the wider world. Our mother owned a small restaurant, and our father was the school principal and basketball coach. It wasn't a flashy life, but it was stable. Peaceful. A kind of sanctuary.
Bora was the brilliant one. Always top of her class, always reaching for something more. I was the hands-on type, drawn to fixing, building, and solving tangible problems. We were opposites in many ways, but as twins, we shared a bond that nothing could break, no matter how much we argued.
Our family history is as unique as our bond. Both of our grandmothers emigrated from Korea during the Korean War, and they found a new life in the U.S. with the help of our grandfather, an African American serviceman. That history shaped us—our mother's blend of Korean and African heritage, combined with our father's darker complexion, made us who we are. But that's just context.
After high school, I joined the National Guard and served for four years before transitioning into law enforcement. Bora pursued medicine, determined to make a difference, perhaps even cure cancer one day. Knowing her, it wasn't just a dream—it was inevitable.
By 2024, I was working as a deputy sheriff in our hometown. Most days were uneventful, even mundane. That changed on November 28, 2024. A day I'll never forget.
It began with a call. Hikers were reported missing in Denali National Park. Situations like this weren't uncommon in Alaska, but every case carried the same urgency. The wilderness here doesn't forgive mistakes. I suited up, ready for what I thought would be a challenging but straightforward mission.
The search was grueling. The helicopter's hum cut through the silence as we surveyed the sprawling expanse of snow and trees. On the ground, the cold was relentless, biting through layers of gear. Still, I pressed on. I've always felt a strange clarity in moments like this—when the stakes are high, and there's no room for hesitation.
Eventually, we found them—a small group huddled together, clinging to life. Relief was brief. The real challenge was getting them out. As we began the trek back, the weather turned. A storm swept in, sudden and unforgiving. The wind howled like a living thing, drowning out every other sound. Visibility was nonexistent.
Somewhere along the way, it happened. A falling branch struck me, pinning me to the ground. I felt the sharp pain, the warmth of blood seeping through my jacket. I should have stopped, but I couldn't. Their safety mattered more than my own. That decision, that moment—it's burned into my memory.
The rest is fragmented—a blur of motion, sound, and cold. I remember their faces as they were airlifted to safety. And then… nothing.
By all accounts, I should have died that day.
But I didn't.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the snow. I wasn't even in my own body. I had awakened somewhere entirely different. A world unlike anything I could have imagined. Floating continents drifted in the sky, colossal creatures that resembled whales gilded effortlessly above me, and an endless ocean stretched out below. I woke up on a planet called Moana IV, inside a strange, alien pod.
And the body I woke up in was... different. It was like someone had taken everything I knew about myself and cranked it up to eleven. I was taller, broader, stronger. My reflexes were off the charts. It felt like I had stepped right out of a comic book.
But it wasn't until later that I realized what I had become. I was no ordinary man—I was a Primarch. A genetically-engineered transhuman, crafted to be a leader of the Emperor's Space Marines, the Legiones Astartes. And not just any Primarch—somehow, I was the unknown 11th Primarch.
Moana IV was a human colony, but it had drifted so far from its origins that its people reminded me of ancient Polynesian cultures—like Hawaiian or Maori—blended with remnants of futuristic technology. The second thing I remember was lying on a beach after a typhoon, half-conscious, with a group of fishermen staring down at me like I was some kind of fallen god.
They took me in, and treated me like royalty—or maybe a deity. And I guess I couldn't blame them. I could bench press a car without breaking a sweat, and there was this strange, glowing aura around me. It was bright enough to light up the night like a full moon. Yeah, I didn't exactly blend in.
To them, I must have looked like something out of their legends. Honestly, I can't blame people for thinking I'm some sort of second coming of Jesus. But it wasn't just the way they looked at me. It was what I could do—abilities no human should have. Like breathing underwater, surviving injuries that would kill anyone else in minutes, and then there's the aura...
It's like some kind of energy field that surrounds me, permeates me—straight out of Dragon Ball Z, if you know what I mean. I can manipulate the aura effect however I want. I can make myself completely unnoticeable, like one of those notice-me-not charms from Harry Potter. Or crank up the heat and incinerate everything in a hundred-foot radius with the intensity of a small sun. I can even change its effect to heal anyone around me who's injured or use it as a psychological weapon to intimidate. But, of course, my personal favorite is the golden, divine-like glow that makes people fall to their knees as if I'm some kind of deity.
It took me a while to get it under control. Let's just say there were a few accidental fires—and I'm not even going to talk about the damn cult that sprung up around me.
After a few weeks, I'd learned the basics of their language—at a speed that shocked even me—and I started traveling across Moana IV. The planet was like nothing I'd ever imagined. A world of floating islands, ancient ruins, and creatures that felt more mythical than real. The people I met—human tribes, each with their own cultures and stories—welcomed me like a savior. I fought monsters that terrorized their lands, helped rebuild villages after disasters, and even made a few friends. Each of them had their own strengths and quirks, and they became my companions on this incredible journey.
But it was in one of those ruins that I met someone who would change everything. An alien or a Xeno. The last of her kind. A Necrontyr Cryptek named Navgrayn. She was nothing like the soulless Necrons I'd read about in old Warhammer books. There was a depth to her, a spark of intellect and emotion that defied everything I thought I knew about her species. Navgrayn wasn't just a machine—she was a survivor, a scholar, a genius, and in many ways, a relic of a time long forgotten.
And it was then that I began to understand who I was—and where I was—in this vast universe. The Warhammer 40k universe—or 30k, to be precise.
The ancient Necrontyr, Navgrayn, became my mentor and teacher, though earning her trust was no simple task. She made me prove my worth, to show that I was deserving of the knowledge she had safeguarded for millennia. I can still recall the first moment I saw her—a vision both awe-inspiring and haunting. Her frail, organic body had long been replaced by Necron technology, a delicate fusion of ancient flesh and cold, unyielding metal. She was connected to an archaic and at the same time advanced life-support system, a testament to her will to endure far beyond her species' naturally brief and cursed lifespan. It was clear that every aspect of her existence was a defiance of the fate that had consumed her people.
Navgrayn had exiled herself long ago, faking her death and leaving behind everything she had ever known after the Silent King issued his infamous edict—the one that doomed her people to an eternity of soulless existence. Unlike the rest of her kind, she saw the madness in their desperate pursuit of immortality, the devastating cost of trading their souls for the cold, unfeeling shells of the Necron. She recognized the folly of their choices—the loss, the emptiness, the destruction of what made them who they were. Refusing to follow the same path, Navgrayn chooses solitude over submission. For millennia, she lived in self-imposed exile, a lone witness to the remnants of her once-great civilization, carrying the weight of their mistakes in silence.
The ancient Cryptek spent those endless millennia not in despair, but in relentless study. Navgrayn devoted her life to preserving the knowledge of her ancestors, safeguarding the secrets of the ancient Necrontyr and their incredible technologies. She became a living relic, a solitary guardian of a lost age, determined to ensure that the lessons of her people's downfall would not be forgotten. For reasons I still don't entirely understand, she saw something in me—something worth teaching. Perhaps it was because I was a Primarch, though she never confirmed it. Through her guidance, I began to comprehend the enormity of my existence and the role I was meant to play in this vast and chaotic universe.
I also discovered that my proficiency in technology is quite remarkable, extending beyond the grasp of ordinary humans. Navgrayn's guidance didn't merely impart knowledge of Necron technology upon me; it unlocked an untapped potential deep within. This newfound ability allows me to conceptualize and comprehend technological marvels with astonishing ease as if they were woven into the very fabric of my being. If an idea crosses my mind, my thoughts instantaneously compose a detailed blueprint or instructions for it, even when I have no prior exposure or study of the subject matter. It's as if I'm accessing an internal library of infinite knowledge, much like the X-Men's Forge, who can construct intricate machines with merely a thought.
The most plausible theory for this phenomenon is that I am the product of a meticulous genetic design by the Emperor of Mankind himself, intended to serve as the apex of human combat potential. A Primarch is not just a masterful warrior and tactician; they are also endowed with the intellectual prowess to innovate and master the most advanced technologies, a capability that seems to resonate within my very essence.
For years, I poured my heart and soul into Moana IV, creating marvels of machinery and innovation with the knowledge Navgrayn had imparted and the resources we scavenged from ancient ruins. Life there was fulfilling. My friends and I lived with purpose—protecting the innocent, growing together, and uncovering the secrets of this strange and beautiful world. But all of that came crashing down when they arrived.
The Drukhari—the Dark Eldar—descended on Moana IV like a plague, their sleek, predatory ships appearing out of nowhere from a fleet that hung ominously in orbit. They came in the thousands, a storm of sadistic cruelty and malice. Monsters, every last one of them. They didn't just invade—they infested, turning our world into their personal hunting ground. To them, we were nothing but toys to be broken, lives to be snuffed out for their twisted amusement.
And as if that wasn't bad enough, the gods of Grimdark decided to double down on the misery. The fucking Orks showed up. Out of nowhere, like some cosmic joke, a massive greenskin horde descended onto Moana IV, their crude dropships tearing through the skies. It wasn't just an invasion—it was chaos incarnate. To the Orks, we weren't even enemies; we were just the backdrop for their endless war games. They didn't care about our lives or our homes. All they wanted was carnage.
But it wasn't just any Ork horde. They were led by a warboss—one with a name so absurd it still makes me question the universe's sense of humor. His name was... Kim Jong Ork.
Yeah, you heard me right. Kim Jong Ork. Don't ask me how he got that name, because I sure as hell don't want to know. All I can say is that he was as ridiculous as he was dangerous—a walking mountain of muscle, brutality, and the kind of unhinged charisma that could rally an entire Waaagh! And to make matters worse, he was clever—dangerously clever for an Ork.
It wasn't just an invasion. It was the end of the life we had built. And it was only the beginning of the fight for survival.
But I wasn't going to let that stand. For five years, I had fought, bled, and built a life on Moana IV. This wasn't just some random planet—it was our home, and I wasn't about to let it fall without a fight. So, we did the unthinkable. Humans, intelligent native wildlife, and even a few unlikely Xenos allies put aside their differences. We united the entire planet. Under my guidance, we became an army.
I took the lead in designing and building the tech and weapons we needed. I repurposed ancient Necron technology from the ruins we'd uncovered and combined it with local resources to create armaments far beyond anything our enemies expected. Then, we trained. Every warrior, every scout, every fighter became part of something greater. We didn't just prepare for war—we prepared to win.
Asymmetric warfare was our only option. We were hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned. Against the Drukhari's ruthless precision and the Orks' relentless brute force, fighting smarter was our only chance. We turned Moana IV itself into our greatest weapon. We knew the terrain, the weather, the quirks of the ecosystem. Every jungle, mountain pass, and coastal reef became a trap waiting to spring.
And it worked. The Orks were like a stampeding herd: predictable, chaotic, and destructive, but easy to manipulate. We lured them into natural choke points, set traps, and unleashed hell. The Drukhari were a more insidious threat—hit-and-run assassins who thrived on terror and precision. They thought their speed and stealth would keep us off balance, but we studied them, dissected their tactics, and turned their arrogance against them.
And then, there was our trump card: an advanced EMP device I had created—something so precise and devastating, that the galaxy had never seen its equal. This wasn't just a brute-force weapon. It was designed with one purpose: to obliterate the technological reliance of the Drukhari. This particular Kabal sect was more dependent on their advanced tech than any other. Their mastery of their high-tech tools was their greatest strength, but it also became their most glaring weakness.
Thanks to my uncanny ability to move unnoticed when needed—my so-called 'lucky and noticed-me-not aura'—I was able to plant these EMP devices right under their noses. Neither the greenskins nor the knife ears realized what was coming until it was far too late. When the devices were activated, the effect was catastrophic. It was as though a thunderclap had erupted across their forces, frying every circuit, every cloaking system, every weapon they relied on. In an instant, the predators became the prey.
Drukhari ships plummeted from the skies like wounded birds, their once-lethal blasters sputtered and died, and their shadow-clad warriors were exposed for all to see. They'd built their dominance on the promise of invincibility through technology, and now that promise was shattered. The battlefield dissolved into chaos as they scrambled to regroup, their arrogance giving way to panic.
And the Orks? They fared no better. Their crude machines and ramshackle weapons, powered by their bizarre WAAAGH energy, sputtered and failed. The EMP disrupted their connection to it, rendering their vehicles and guns into useless heaps of scrap. Without their toys, they were nothing but brute force—and brute force wasn't enough. Disorganized and bewildered, they were reduced to easy targets.
We turned their strengths into their greatest weaknesses. The Drukhari, stripped of their tech, and the Orks, cut off from their crude power, became shadows of what they were. The chaos was absolute, the devastation total. We didn't just defeat them—we annihilated them. They learned the hard way that Moana IV wasn't a prize to be claimed. It was a fortress, and anyone foolish enough to challenge it would face nothing but ruin.
We drove the invaders from Moana IV in less than 3 years. Against impossible odds, we succeeded. We didn't just survive—we triumphed. But victory always comes at a cost. Some of the damage was already done. A lot of people died, and Entire species—unique, irreplaceable—were wiped out. Vast landscapes were ravaged, scarred by fire and blood. The very soul of Moana IV had been changed forever. And yet, amidst all the ruin, the survivors turned to me. Their eyes, filled with hope, bore into my soul. They saw me as their savior, the one who had led them through the storm. I couldn't let them down.
The war was over, but our real fight was just beginning. Moana IV, once a fragile oceanic world, became a beacon of resilience. We transformed it into a fortress—a symbol of unity and defense. By blending human ingenuity, native wisdom, and remnants of Necron technology, we created something extraordinary.
Under my leadership, we rebuilt not just cities but entire ways of life. Schools, hospitals, and factories flourished, while the Moana IV Council united diverse species under one banner. Navgrayn's knowledge helped craft a powerful fleet of 500 Super-Heavy Prowler-class stealth warships and thousands of orbital defense platforms, ODP—silent, deadly guardians cloaked in advanced invisibility. Our planet became a labyrinth of unseen defenses, a death trap for any invader.
The Moana Defense Fleet was more than a military force—it embodied hope, unity, and defiance. Moana IV stood as a shining example of what we could achieve together, a bastion in a relentless universe. We weren't just survivors anymore; we were a force to be reckoned with.
I always knew it wouldn't last. No matter how strong Moana IV became, the Emperor would come for me. As a Primarch—his creation and "son"—I was a loose end he wouldn't ignore. The Emperor tolerated no independence, and my thriving world was a challenge to his authority.
And the Emperor and I? We're nothing alike. I may be the product of his design, but I am no puppet. I've built something here—something real, something worth fighting for. The people of Moana IV aren't just numbers or tools for some endless war. They are families, and friends—a society that has endured the impossible and emerged stronger for it. I owe them more than blind obedience to a distant, unyielding ruler. And let's get one thing straight: I wasn't calling him "father." The Emperor would do just fine for a being like him.
Decades of victories and sacrifices strengthened Moana IV, but when the Emperor's fleet arrived, the scale of his power was undeniable. Thousands of warships, led by the Bucephalus, filled the void. With them came my brothers—Horus, Vulkan, Guilliman—titans of legend. Despite their stature, I refused to see myself as lesser. Strength was more than size; it was willpower, and mine was unyielding.
Conflict was not an option. I sent envoys to plead for coexistence. Against all odds, the Emperor listened. When we finally met, his overwhelming presence and golden armor radiated authority. Negotiations were tense, but he saw value in what we had built. An agreement was reached: Moana IV would join the Imperium, its people protected, while I journeyed to Terra to fulfill my role as a Primarch.
Leaving Moana IV broke my heart. It was my home, my legacy, and the heart of everything I'd fought for. But I trusted the people I left behind to preserve our dream. On Terra—a decaying monument to humanity's past—I began my training under the Emperor's watchful gaze, preparing to take my place in his grand design.
When I first met my Legion—the XI Legion—their glory had long faded. Once mighty, only 7,000 warriors remained, worn by relentless war and haunted by defeat. Yet, beneath their fatigue, I saw potential. I vowed to restore their pride and transform them into a force greater than their past selves.
I rechristened them the Astra Phantom, the "Specters of the Stars"—a silent, unseen force that thrived in the shadowy depths of the galaxy. Our recruitment drew carefully selected volunteers from Moana IV, prioritizing skill and adaptability over sheer numbers. By the time we marched to join the Great Crusade, our ranks had grown to 39,000. Though modest compared to the legions of my fellow brothers and Primarchs, our strength lay not in mass, but in mastery. Each warrior was a specialist, trained rigorously in the art of asymmetric warfare and special operations. We were not an army built to overwhelm—we were a scalpel, precise and deadly, cutting where it hurt most.
"Semper Paratus, Semper Vigilans." Became our Legion Motto and warcry. The Astra Phantom—always ready, always watchful.
The Astra Phantom evolved into an elite special forces unit, akin to the tier 1 operators of modern times, even adopting the green beret as a symbol of our distinctive approach to warfare. Our tactics were unorthodox, emphasizing stealth, deception, and precision strikes. We undertook missions deemed impossible or too complex for even the standard Astartes, swiftly building a reputation as the most adaptable and versatile legion. We became renowned for our ability to handle the most delicate and critical operations with unmatched skill and efficiency.
The 11th was outfitted with an array of specialized weapons and tools tailored to our kind of specialized stealth base warfare. Among our arsenal were silenced bolt weapons, including suppressor-equipped bolt pistols and sniper rifles for silent, precise eliminations. We also wielded exclusive, custom-designed bullpup bolt guns like the Heldenheim-pattern Heavy Bolt Rifle and the Niveran-pattern Bolt Rifle—tools of destruction engineered specifically for our legion.
To further enhance our tactical edge, we employed compact deafening charges capable of suppressing environmental noise, ensuring our movements remained undetected as we struck the area with overwhelming firepower and efficiency. Our wargear was equally advanced, with power armor reinforced by a necrodermis-ceramite composite alloy. Designed by my hand, it prioritized functionality and practicality over ceremonial aesthetics, reflecting the legion's ethos of efficiency and effectiveness over pomp and heraldry.
Our arsenal included advanced shields and stealth generators, enabling us to absorb significantly more damage than the average Space Marine and to move undetected through enemy territory. We employed specialized ammunition tailored to specific mission needs, such as stun rounds, incendiary bolts, and the lethal Gauss Flayer rounds, which dismantle targets at the molecular level, layer by layer. Furthermore, our combat knives were forged from exceptionally strong and lightweight adamantium alloys, making them both deadly and discreet.
Our training regimen was brutal and unforgiving, designed to push each warrior to their limits and beyond. We honed our skills in various environments—from dense urban landscapes to treacherous mountain terrains—ensuring we were prepared for any scenario. Physical conditioning was only one aspect; mental fortitude was equally crucial. We trained in psychological warfare, learning to withstand and exploit the enemy's fears and weaknesses.
Communication and coordination were key to our success. We developed a complex system of hand signals and encrypted comms, allowing us to operate silently and efficiently. Each squad was a tightly-knit unit, capable of functioning as a single, cohesive entity. Trust and camaraderie were not just encouraged; they were essential to our survival and effectiveness.
Then at last, I felt fully prepared to embark on the grand journey ahead, having completed my tutelage under Captain-General Valdor and Malcador the Sigillite. With their guidance, I transformed the Eleventh Legion into a specialized yet versatile elite force, ready to face the complexities of the galaxy. Our unique approach to warfare set us apart, and our reputation grew swiftly and our prowess became legendary among the Legiones Astartes.
I was entrusted with the command of a behemoth 25-kilometer Gloriana-class Battleship, which I named the Spirit of Fire, inspired by Captain James Cutter's legendary ship from the Halo series. The ship underwent extensive modifications and upgrades at the shipyard of Moana IV, tailored to our legion's unique strategies. Enhanced stealth systems, long-range precision weaponry, and advanced cloaking technology ensured we could strike undetected and execute surgical operations with minimal collateral damage.
Internally, the Spirit of Fire housed cutting-edge training facilities modeled after the X-Men Danger Room, designed to prepare our battle-brothers for any scenario. Its bridge was transformed into a strategic command center, equipped with advanced sensors and communication systems, allowing us to gather intelligence, coordinate operations, and adapt in real-time.
The Spirit of Fire became an extension of our legion's ethos—silent, deadly, and adaptable, ready to strike from the shadows. With this vessel, the Astra Phantom was prepared to join the Great Crusade.
Heh… my legion and I left a trail of destruction during the Great Crusade. We must have brought over 900 worlds into compliance in less than half a decade. And not a single battle ever played out the same way twice. Our cloaked ships would slip into orbit unnoticed, and before the enemy even realized we were there, we'd already struck—shredding their defenses like they were nothing. By the time the other legions moved in to secure the victory, we'd already crippled the enemy's command, supply lines, or morale. We had a talent for striking where it hurt the most—behind their lines, in their war rooms, or even in their own quarters. We didn't follow anyone's rules but our own.
Just as Leman Russ was the Emperor's Executioner, Perturabo his Siege Master, Guilliman the Governor, Magnus his Sorcerer, Rogal Dorn the Castellan, and Lorgar the Emperor's Herald, I too was bestowed a unique title. I became the Emperor's Taskmaster—a recognition of my unparalleled ability to undertake any mission, no matter how insurmountable it seemed, and see it through to completion with precision and resolve.
During the Great Crusade, the Astra Phantom and I fought countless enemies—humans, Xenos, and hell… we even fought these so-called daemons—despite the Emperor's efforts to conceal such truths from us, even though I already know of their existence and it all thanks to my previous life knowledge. We faced horrors that would make even the bravest souls quake with fear. But we never faltered. We were the Emperor's silent blade, and we struck without mercy or hesitation.
Our tactics were as varied as the enemies we faced. Against the treacherous Eldar, we used their own webway against them, infiltrating their hidden bases and striking at the heart of their operations. We turned their precious technology against them, using it to sow chaos and discord from within. The Eldar, with their arrogance and overconfidence, never saw us coming until it was too late.
When we encountered the brutal Orks, we employed a different strategy. We knew that brute force alone would not be enough to overcome their relentless numbers and savagery. Instead, we targeted their leadership, taking out their warbosses and nobs with surgical precision. Without their leaders to guide them, the Ork hordes would descend into infighting and disarray, making them easy prey for our follow-up strikes.
Other Xeno and opposing human forces didn't stand a chance against our relentless assaults. But it was against the forces of Chaos that we truly proved our worth. The daemons and their corrupting influence were a plague upon the galaxy, a cancer that threatened to consume all in its path. We fought them with every ounce of our strength and cunning. Using our superior tactical and technology might, We purged their cults, banished their daemons, and burned their tainted worlds to the ground. Exterminatus style.
However, something… changed.
The last recollection before awakening with a bandaged void where my left eye once resided, was the odor of charring flesh and the cacophony of agonized cries. An unidentifiable force had struck me, leaving everything in stark contrast of searing white-hotness and then an icy blackness. Upon regaining consciousness, I found myself in a different realm—another plane of existence, perhaps even another cosmos—distant from the somber shadows of the Warhammer Universe. To my side, surprisingly, was the presence of my sister, Bora.
=End of Transcript=
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
AN: Maybe I post the first chapter in a couple of day, this is only to test the water to see how y'all would respond.