🌀 Author's Note
Hey everyone!I'm thrilled to share this new fanfic with you all finally — "Warhammer: We Are All Alpharius."
As you can tell from the title, this is a Warhammer 40K fanfic set during the 30K era, deep in the days of the Great Crusade. Expect strategy, deception, empire-building, and the grim beauty of the Imperium's rise.
To my long-time readers, thank you for the constant support. To new readers, welcome aboard! This journey dives into the mind of a soul transmigrated in a Primarch, where every choice echoes across the stars.
Enjoy the read, and remember..."We are all Alpharius."
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Chapter 1: Omega
In the cosmic void, the cold expanse of the galaxy has endured since time immemorial. Hundreds of billions of suns burn across the darkness, yet the distances between stars are so vast that even light must travel for years to bridge the gap.
The void between worlds remains untouched by warmth or radiance—a realm of death, cold, and silence.
Against this emptiness, the spiral arms of the galaxy shine with beauty, nurturing countless races and civilizations. Among them were humanity, innumerable xenos species, and the ancient overlords of the stars: the Aeldari and the Necrons.
Humanity ventured into the stars and passed through ages of triumph and terror—the Golden Age of Technology, the darkness of Old Night, and the Age of Strife. Now, in the 30th Millennium, mankind has entered the Imperial Age.
The Emperor of Mankind, who had walked beside humanity since its earliest days, united the warring techno-barbarian kingdoms of Terra alongside the Sigillite and other Perpetuals. The scarred cradle of mankind was made whole once more beneath a single banner.
After the signing of the Treaty of Olympus with the Mechanicum of Mars, the Sol System achieved complete unity under Imperial rule.
With preparations complete, the Emperor launched the Great Crusade, a galaxy-spanning expedition to reunite the scattered remnants of humanity among the stars and restore mankind's rightful dominion over the void.
The 887th Year of the 30th Millennium
The Great Crusade had raged across the stars for over a century. What began in the Sol System had expanded into a vast Imperium spanning tens of thousands of light-years.
Under the Emperor's command and the might of the rediscovered Primarchs leading their gene-forged Legions, humanity had overcome countless xenos civilizations. Even those with superior technology fell before the Imperium's advance.
Such impossible achievements in such a brief span elevated the Emperor's authority throughout the Imperium. The victories of the Great Crusade ignited fervor across Imperial worlds, and countless souls eagerly joined the greatest endeavor in human history.
But as the Imperium's borders pushed ever outward, it encountered its first truly formidable xenos threat in the northeastern reaches of the galaxy.
"The Rangda."
It was a cruel twist of fate. Many of the twenty scattered Primarchs had been found in the northeastern sectors, and the Halo Stars to the north even held passages leading toward the Eye of Terror itself, the domain of Chaos.
Over the past decades, the Imperium and the Rangda had clashed in two catastrophic wars.
During the Second Rangdan Xenocide, Imperial forces involving contingents from nine Space Marine Legions, thousands of Titan and Mechanicum forces, and over 300,000 Astartes at the conflict's height assaulted the Rangda fortress world of Taxal.
The Imperium gained the upper hand and ultimately won, but at a terrible cost that nearly crippled the fledgling realm. The Emperor himself intervened to break the enemy's psychic Labyrinth of Night.
Now, in the year 887.M30, the White Scars V Legion had located the Rangda homeworld of Horn-Mols.
The Third Rangdan Xenocide was about to begin.
Balsavor
The planet Balsavor orbited a young, energetic star in the contested zone. Once, it had been a prosperous world ruled by a technological oligarchy. Towering spires of steel and glass reached into the clouds, aerial traffic lanes wove between gleaming skyscrapers, and artificial lights banished the night.
It was a triumph of human ingenuity.
Now, smoke choked the outer districts. War had come to Balsavor.
Monstrous war-beasts, each dozens of meters tall, stalked through the boulevards on clusters of segmented legs. Their bodies bristled with writhing tentacles. Dozens of lidless eyes covered their grotesque forms.
They were things born of nightmares, part insect, part predator, their faces hidden beneath masses of squirming appendages.
Behind these creatures came Rangda slave-soldiers, xenos of various species, each wearing the distinctive blue neural collar of the Cerabvores. They wore mismatched armor and wielded laser weapons, herding panicked civilians through the burning streets.
Overhead, Rangda attack craft strafed the fleeing crowds with coordinated laser fire. Explosions erupted across the district.
One of the massive war-beasts crashed through the corner of a building, bringing down tons of rubble as it rounded into another street. Its many eyes rotated independently, focusing on the terrified humans below. The creature's throat sacs pulsed, and a psychic shriek rippled outward.
Hundreds of civilians collapsed, clutching their heads as the psionic attack scrambled their nervous systems. Blood trickled from their ears and noses. The street became a killing field.
The war-beast advanced on its multiple legs, tentacles unfurling to harvest the fallen.
Then something moved through the crowd like a gust of wind.
CRACK.
A dull impact. A bestial roar cut short.
The civilians, recovering from their agony, looked up. Blood still streamed down their faces, but they could see the war-beast's head rolling across the pavement.
Standing atop its massive corpse was a figure roughly two and a half meters tall, clad in ornate power armor and gripping a long spear. Dust swirled around him.
The Rangda slave-soldiers stared in disbelief. These war-beasts were living weapons. Their hides could shrug off artillery strikes. They were the Rangda equivalent of Imperial Titans.
And this warrior had killed one with a single thrust.
Fear seized them. The slaves opened fire, dozens of las-beams converging on the armored figure.
But he was already gone. The beams struck empty air and scorched the wall behind where he'd stood.
He reappeared among them like a phantom.
His spear became a blur of motion. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Each movement claimed multiple lives. The slave-soldiers fell like wheat before a scythe, their armor offering no protection against the whistling blade.
When the figure finally stopped at the street intersection, hundreds of Rangda troops lay dead behind him.
Omega tightened his grip on the spear and surveyed the battlefield. Several enemy aircraft tumbled from the sky in the distance, crashing in fireballs. He frowned beneath his helm, taking in the dozens of war-beasts still rampaging through the city.
More las-fire lanced toward him. He shifted slightly, almost negligently, and every beam missed by centimeters.
His gaze locked onto another war-beast three blocks away.
He vanished.
The world blurred around him as he moved at speeds that transcended both human and xenos perception. His spear sang through the air once, a single perfect cut, and passed clean through the creature's center mass.
Omega didn't look back. He was already focused on the next target.
Behind him, the war-beast's death roar shook the buildings as it collapsed in two halves, accompanied by the screams of the xenos who'd been foolish enough to stand nearby.
[End of Chapters]