The darkness enveloped him like a heavy shroud. For a moment that felt like an eternity, Orion felt the weight of an unfathomable abyss pressing down on his mind. Then, abruptly, the light returned. He blinked slowly, adjusting his vision to his new surroundings. Around him stretched a dark, claustrophobic tunnel, dimly lit by flickering lights that seemed to gasp with every pulse.
The air was stale, saturated with the stench of rusted metal, ozone, and what might have been mold. He could hear the steady dripping of water in the distance, its echo reverberating through the narrow walls of what appeared to be a hidden passageway. Beneath his bare feet, the floor was cold, corroded metal.
Orion raised his hands, staring at them in astonishment. They were large, strong, yet perfect in their symmetry. Veins traced across the firm muscles, radiating a power that was far beyond human. A wave of recognition swept over him—not of his past, but of what he was now. He knew this strength. He understood that his body was no longer human. It was something more. Something divine. But also something cursed.
He rose to his feet slowly, and the perspective overwhelmed him. He was… tall. Very tall, but not as much as he had anticipated. He had read the codices, knew the Primarchs were giants among men. Yet, as he measured himself against the tunnel that barely accommodated his frame, he realized his height was far more modest than that of his "brothers." Barely 2.1 meters tall. An impressive stature by human standards, but it paled compared to beings like Roboute Guilliman or Sanguinius. However, his physique compensated for his lack of height, exuding an almost supernatural perfection.
Orion stopped before a reflective metal surface and was struck with disbelief. His face… His face was impossible. His skin was pale as marble, flawless, and each feature seemed sculpted by gods. His eyes, burning gold, emitted a glow that defied the tunnel's gloom. Her Golden hair, reflecting a radiance that seemed to brighten even the desolation around him. His beauty was overwhelming, so much so that even in his confusion, he felt undeserving of such a visage. He was more beautiful than Sanguinius himself, and that thought unsettled him.
"What the hell is happening?" he thought as he touched his face with trembling hands. None of this made sense. He wasn't a Primarch. He was just a Warhammer 40k enthusiast, an ordinary man from Earth who spent his nights reading codices and watching videos about theories on the Imperium. Now, he was here, in this perfect body, in this cruel, merciless world that, until recently, had existed only in fiction.
Orion closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself, but the memories wouldn't stop. Images of the Imperium of Man, the God-Emperor, and the horrors of Chaos paraded through his mind. With every thought, a terrible truth became clearer: he was trapped in a universe without hope, where life was cheap, and death was constant.
"I need to move," he told himself, forcing down the rising despair threatening to root itself in his chest. Despair was useless here. If he had learned anything from the Imperial texts, it was that only the strong survived. "Adapt or die."
His gaze soon fell on a white suit of armor with golden accents, instantly recognizing it as his own—a set that had followed him through countless battles. Wasting no time, he began donning the armor with urgency, grabbing the power sword and bolter resting on a nearby table.
Once clad in his armor, Orion felt more secure and turned his attention to his surroundings.
There, in the dim light, he sensed the presence of others. They slept in stasis pods, their massive figures encased in worn yet majestic power armor. Twelve in total, each a giant worthy of the legends of Earth's mythological heroes.
Orion knew immediately who they were. What had once been unknown was now etched into his mind as inherent knowledge, part of a legacy he had never asked for. The Custodians of the Dawn. His warriors. His sons. His legacy.
A voice echoed in his mind, distant and familiar, like a whisper from the past.
"Orion, the Second Primarch. My most beautiful creation. And also my greatest disappointment."
The memory of the Emperor of Mankind ignited in his mind, bringing with it fragments of a life that wasn't his but now defined him. Orion had betrayed his father in his first life, seeking redemption through an unending crusade. He had failed, and yet, somehow, he had triumphed. Now, he awoke in a place he didn't recognize but whose importance he couldn't deny.
"Well, since there's no way out of this, I might as well adapt quickly and act like a true Primarch," he thought, releasing a silent sigh.
Having fully assimilated the memories of both lives, Orion walked among the stasis pods, his footsteps echoing on the corroded metal floor. He gazed at his warriors—his most loyal Space Marines—and activated the controls of the nearest pod. A hydraulic hiss broke the silence, and the figure within emerged slowly.
The first to awaken was Dantheon, the Grand Commander of the Custodians of the Dawn and his most formidable warrior. Dantheon's golden power armor was adorned with engravings of dawn and laurels, symbols of hope in a universe consumed by darkness. His scarred face, a testament to a thousand battles, reflected a mixture of hardness and devotion. He was a man with steel-gray eyes and short, nearly silver hair.
"My lord Orion..." Dantheon said, his deep voice heavy with emotion at the sight of his Primarch. "Has our rest finally ended?"
Orion nodded, still adjusting to the magnitude of his new identity. "It is time for us to reclaim our purpose. The universe needs us now more than ever."
One by one, his warriors awakened. Each was a living monument to martial perfection and sacrifice. Among them were Valerius, the calculating strategist whose intellect rivaled the greatest generals; Kaelus, the apothecary and guardian of the Custodians' genetic legacy; and Lucien, the master gunner whose marksmanship was legendary.
The twelve warriors who rose alongside Orion were not merely soldiers; they were his brothers-in-arms, the only ones who had stood by him when all seemed lost. Each bore the burden of having survived a crusade that had nearly consumed them.
Orion and his warriors soon left the hidden chambers where they had slumbered for centuries. Valir, the hive world, stretched before them like a dying beast. The towering spires of the upper hive brushed the clouds of smog, while the lower levels sank into utter despair. Famine, corruption, and a palpable sense of abandonment reigned. Criminal syndicates controlled the streets, and Chaos cults were beginning to spread like a cancer.
"This is nothing more than a reflection of what we've allowed to happen," Orion said, gazing out from a high platform. "But no more."
Dantheon stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the sprawling city. "What are your orders, my lord?"
Orion turned to his men, his voice thundering with authority and purpose. "This planet will be our bastion. Here, we will start anew. We will claim it in the name of the Emperor. The corrupt will be purged, the heretics destroyed, and the righteous will find in us the guidance they so desperately need."
It was at that moment they decided on their first target: the planetary governor. Orion didn't need proof to know the man was guilty. He could feel it in the very air of the planet, in the despair of its people.
The darkness enveloped him like a heavy shroud. The corridor was dim, barely illuminated by the flickering lights overhead. Orión walked in silence, his footsteps echoing across the cold metal floor. Dantheon and his warriors followed closely, their steps firm and respectful, but the atmosphere grew denser with every step, as if the air itself darkened under the presence of the Primarch.
Suddenly, the stillness of the hallways was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps, echoes approaching from the distance. A few moments later, a group of the governor's guards rounded the corner, armed and alert, but when they saw the imposing figure of Orión, their movements halted. The glow of their flashlights illuminated their faces, but it could not hide the fear beginning to surface in their eyes.
The leader of the guards, a tall and burly man, stepped forward, raising his weapon in a warning gesture. "Halt! This is a restricted area. Identify yourself!" His voice trembled, and although his stance was defiant, the panic in his breathing was evident.
Orión did not stop. His gaze locked onto the leader with such intensity that the man felt as though an invisible force was crushing his chest. Orión made no movement, yet an overwhelming presence, like the weight of a massive force, descended upon the guards.
The leader struggled to maintain his posture, but his weapon shook in his hands, and the defiant glare of Orión disarmed him without a word.
"Listen carefully," Orión said, his voice deep and resonant, heavy with authority. "I have no time for delays. You are humans, soldiers of a dying world, and you will kneel before me—not out of fear, but necessity. This planet will fall under my control, and those who refuse to submit to order will perish."
The guards hesitated. The air grew heavier with tension, and though some tried to take a step back, the pressure of Orión's gaze held them in place. Cold sweat began to drip down their foreheads.
"Kneel," Orión commanded, his tone cold and distant, like a decree from the God-Emperor himself. The guards glanced around, searching for any form of resistance, but the weight of his presence was crushing. Doubt crept into their minds, and before they could decide otherwise, one by one, their knees buckled. A whisper of fear escaped their lips, and soon they all knelt, unable to resist.
Orión continued walking, making no movement beyond his steady stride. Dantheon and the rest of the Dawn Custodians followed closely, never missing a step.
With each step, Orión felt his power manifest in the air around him, as though reality itself bent to his will. The guards remained motionless, their eyes fixed on the ground, incapable of facing the magnificence of the Primarch.
At last, they arrived at the doors of the governor's residence. Orión stopped in front of them, never glancing back at the kneeling guards. The Marines guarded the hallway while he stared calmly at the entrance.
With a gesture, the kneeling guards seemed to collectively exhale in relief, grateful to have been spared. The doors swung open before him without resistance.
The throne room was a display of decadent luxury, a grotesque contrast to the misery Orión had witnessed in the streets. The governor, a bloated and pompous man, rose from his seat with an expression of indignation upon seeing the intruders.
"Who dares enter my palace unbidden?" he bellowed, his voice trembling but laced with arrogance.
Orión advanced slowly, his towering figure eclipsing everything around him. "I am Orión, the Second Primarch, created by the God-Emperor of Mankind. This planet is now under my command."
The governor attempted to respond, but his words died in his throat as Orión raised a hand, silencing him. "Your days of oppression are over." With a swift motion, Orión unsheathed his sword, a magnificent blade etched with the imagery of rising suns, and decapitated the man in a single strike.
Silence filled the room as the governor's attendants recoiled in horror. Orión turned to them. "Spread this message: The Emperor Protects, even here in the darkness. Corruption will not be tolerated. The dawn has come to Valir."
The attendants began to flee in panic, fearing for their lives, knowing they too had been complicit in the governor's corruption.
"Dantheon," Orión commanded, his tone calm but firm. "Interrogate the governor's aides. Find out what sector we're in and the distribution of this planet. We need every detail to know what we're up against."
"As you command, Lord Orión," the Marine commander responded respectfully before departing to fulfill the order.
"The rest of you," Orión continued, addressing his warriors, "secure the area and remove anyone who isn't useful to us. Execute all who resist immediately. Locate the stewards and have them clean this place." His gaze fell upon the grotesque corpse of the former governor, blood pooling around it. "Oh, and one more thing—execute his entire family, including the children. We cannot afford hidden threats in the future."
"Understood, my Lord!" the eleven Marines shouted in unison before dispersing to cover the area.
"It seems it's just you and me left in this hall," Orión muttered, almost casually, as he looked down at the governor's lifeless body. He seated himself upon the throne, adorned with Imperial symbols, and added coldly, "Don't blame me for what will happen to your family. Blame yourself for being the architect of their tragic fate."