As one of the 21 offspring crafted by the Emperor's ruthless handiwork, every Primarch possesses a formidable and powerful physique, with combat prowess and endurance that leave onlookers in awe.
Take Diedrech Torismund, for instance. He boasts a near-mystical level of physical resilience and a monstrous vitality akin to a bio-engineered abomination. As long as he has an energy supply, even if half his body is blown to bits, he can regenerate at an astonishing rate. He could survive by eating dirt if need be—a feat that defies all reason.
Yet this is merely his physical attributes. Every Primarch has their own unique "special sauce," and Diedrech Torismund is no exception.
Through various self-experiments, Diedrech discovered he possesses an almost supernatural charm, like some kind of humanoid daemonette, capable of randomly spawning fanatical devotees in his vicinity.
The mechanics of this ability are rather esoteric. Even after more than a decade, Diedrech still hasn't fully figured it out. He suspects it's tied to the mind—the simpler the creature, the less it's affected. For instance, the dim-witted Ogryns and the perpetually slacking, fish-loving beastmen are largely immune.
This is also why, once he gained control over his ability, Diedrech preferred to hang out with Ogryns and beastmen. As for his other abilities, he has yet to uncover them.
But what good are special abilities? At this point in the 30th millennium, the Imperial Truth reigns supreme. It's not quite the absolute cesspit of the 40th millennium, but even as a Primarch, Diedrech Torismund is merely a high-value pawn in the galaxy-spanning chessboard of the stars.
Unless Diedrech could transform into some kind of magnetic war god, punching out lesser foes and shattering the very fabric of the Great Game, he'd be better off staying where it's cool and quiet! He might as well wait for the yellow-skinned big guy's return and whatever grand welcome package comes with it.
"So, Boss, is that why you're always making us do the work while you're slacking off?"
Rambo, freshly armed with the new weapon, let out a sigh through its canine maw and plopped onto the sofa. It couldn't help but think it must have been blind in both dog eyes to pledge loyalty to such a master. Day in, day out, it was either unclogging toilets or working as a laborer—it felt more like the master here.
"Boss, don't you ever think about getting revenge?"
"Rubbish! Haven't I already developed a new weapon? What, you expect me to go solo against those monsters? It's not that I don't want to—it's that I can't win!"
At those words, even Rambo let out a sigh, rubbing its half-missing dog ear before slumping deeper into the sofa.
As two plumes of smoke rose, master and servant fell silent, both recalling the crushing defeat from a year ago.
As someone who, back in his dorm days, would pontificate after lights-out with ideas so radical they'd get him shot if overheard, Diedrech wasn't idle after arriving in this world. He tried to do great things—only to crash and burn halfway.
After taking up the mantle of chieftain, Diedrech led the beastmen in conquest, uniting the various tribes of the Verdant Plains with the brute strength of his beastman and Ogryn armies. From humans at the edge of the grasslands, he learned of another continent's location.
But just as he had a guide lead him across the plains and through a primal jungle to conquer the other half of the continent, disaster struck.
In that dense, primeval jungle, the Atlas Expeditionary Force encountered all manner of bizarre creatures: swarms of bloodthirsty mosquitoes the size of roosters; deceptively cute toads capable of blasting apart half a hillside; and even ten-meter-tall, golden lightning-wreathed giant mushroom men who could flatten a main battle tank with a single punch.
And that was just the beginning of the nightmare. After suffering heavy losses breaking through the jungle, the expeditionary force finally reached their destination.
What met their eyes was a landscape of discarded steel wreckage. Half the continental plate was torn apart, as if it had endured a brutal war long ago. In the distance, a massive hive city lay in ruins, overtaken by green vegetation.
Amid it all, only a pink castle stood relatively intact, sitting alone before the ruins, blocking the only entrance.
To investigate what had happened here, Diedrech led a detachment of soldiers and their guide to scout the area.
But as they circled the castle and approached the lone entrance, Diedrech spotted two massive buttons—one red, one green. After a moment's thought, he decided to press neither and instead opted to climb the wall!
It was too late. A piercing red alarm blared, and a swarm of dilapidated robots poured out from the entrance, attacking everything in sight like crazed machines.
After cutting down one of the enemies, Diedrech finally understood what had happened here: this was an ancient battlefield from the Iron Men rebellion.
Even so, armed with heavy plate armor and oversized gunpowder weapons, they weren't entirely helpless against these grass-sprouting, broken-down machines. Fighting while retreating, they managed to break through—only for the most absurd thing to happen next.
Just when the expeditionary force thought they'd escaped, the nearby castle stood up. It wasn't a castle at all—it was a bloody Titan, half-buried in the dirt!
Every time Diedrech recalled this moment, he felt like he'd lost his mind. Why in the world had he gotten so hot-headed and decided to take on a sixty-meter-plus Titan single-handedly?
In the end, with half his body melted, Diedrech was carried out on Rambo's back. The vanguard was completely wiped out, and the few remaining troops were chased like dogs under a hail of gunfire, forced to escort their boss in a humiliating retreat.
"So, it's not that I'm slacking, alright? I just can't win! You could swap in any knight, and it'd be the same. Throwing me up against a Titan right off the bat—you think that's a joke?"
Hearing his boss admit he couldn't win, Rambo felt a wave of discouragement, its dog tail drooping limply.
"Isn't there any way? Come on, use your world-shaking wisdom! Boss, you promised old Thomas you'd make the beastmen great again!"
Flicking away his cigarette butt, Diedrech waved a hand, signaling his trusty lieutenant to follow. He had something good to show.
Following Diedrech into the workshop, Rambo's eyes fell on a massive cabin cobbled together from scrap. Above it was a patched-up, cigar-shaped airship balloon, topped with a crookedly drawn smiley face that exuded an indescribable absurdity.
"What's this?"
"Good question! I love that wide-eyed, never-seen-the-world look of yours. This is the secret weapon that'll let us wash away our past shame. I call it the Kirov Airship!
Don't ask what an airship is. All you need to know is that this thing can drop us right into that Titan.
From last time's failure, I realized those robots are off. They don't have any self-awareness—more like the Iron Men are on the brink of collapse, just mechanically following old orders."
"Boss, you mean…?"
Diedrech nodded, continuing his explanation:
"While you've been unclogging toilets for others these past six months, I've sent scouts in small airships to investigate. As long as we don't make aggressive moves, we won't trigger the alarms. We can absolutely pull off a boarding action and deal with this problem from the inside.
As for the rest, with my newly developed knockoff bolt weapons, we can slowly clear out those abominable intelligences. The advantage is ours!
So, you know what you need to do now? Go round up all the beastmen to get to work. Or do you expect me to make weapons for the entire tribe by myself?"
"Should we call the Ogryns too?"
The moment the words left its mouth, Rambo clamped its dog jaws shut. Without waiting for Diedrech to start yelling, it bolted out the door. After all, expecting Ogryns to operate machine tools was less likely than praying they'd fix their own toilets.
Meanwhile, at the edge of the star sector where Tranquility lay, a human fleet emerged from a Mandeville Point. At the forefront was a massive golden vessel, where a golden big guy stared at a holographic display, his brow furrowed. He hated making choices.
Two planets were highlighted. One of them held one of his sons. After a brief moment of thought, the golden big guy decided to pick neither and instead began his search with the nearby jungle world.
"Katachan, nice name!"