In the dim glow of his aging monitor, Ji-hoon sat slumped in his worn chair, the one that always creaked under his weight.
He was well into his forties now, eyes heavy from too many late night. His room was a total mess, a cold coffee mug forgotten beside the keyboard.
Real life had long since worn him down—endless work shifts, mounting bills, the quiet surrendering to routine—but Warhammer 40,000 remained his one stubborn refuge, a universe where he could still feel alive.
Tonight he was lost in Warhammer: Online, that wild fan-made game which blending empire-building strategy, real-time battles, and deep role-playing freedom.
In this game you could become almost anything: a lowly guardsman holding the line, a twisted servant of Chaos, a towering Astartes, a Primarch commanding fleets.
Hell, even the God-Emperor Himself if you poured enough hours into it.
Ji-hoon had chosen a different path.
His character filled the screen: immense, clad in midnight-black armor trimmed with molten gold, great wings of restrained mechanical-parts folded against his back like a storm held in check.
He was playing as:
The Angel of Destruction, the Sleeper, the Fallen Angel, the Chaos Slayer, the Precursor.
The Primarch Zero, Kaiser Hanzelorn.
In the old, scattered lore, it painted this being as the Emperor's earliest experiment in crafting demigods—a prototype Primarch designed to stand alone against the tides of Chaos, his soul forged with unmatched resilience.
But the prototype had flaws. He lacked compassion. His mind twisted toward ruin. Worlds burned because he deemed them unworthy of the Emperor's grand vision.
There's tale that an Imperial planet had been reduced to lifeless ash simply because the Angel judged its people unworthy of the Emperor's salvation.
Ji-hoon refused to accept that ending.
He had reshaped the Angel completely. No longer a tragic destroyer of humanity, Kaiser now stood as a beacon of grim nobility.
He commanded the Göttermarine—his own custom legion of Space Marines Legion renowned across the galaxy for their unbreakable honor and discipline.
Their warriors so exemplary that even the proudest legion of Ultramarines spoke of them with quiet respect.
In this campaign the timeline sat firmly in the early 30th millennium. The Great Crusade had only just begun to unfold across the stars. Nineteen Primarchs led their legions into the void, save for the two lost brothers remained shadows in the records, as always. Yet among them all, Kaiser held a unique place.
The Emperor Himself had declared him Warmaster before the first shots were even fired.
He was the eldest in time of creations, the original template. Every gene-seed that flowed through the other legions was the modifications of his own.
Naturally, the Emperor granted him that rights.
To his brothers he was the towering older sibling they could never quite reach—the one they constantly tested themselves against.
They often sought him out for duels on desolate moons, in the cavernous battle-barge of warships, anywhere they could prove their worth.
And every time, Kaiser emerged victorious with almost effortless grace.
He had been created for a singular purpose: to confront the Ruinous Powers directly, without relying on legions or fellow demigods.
He needed no army at his back, no brothers to share the burden. It was always just him facing the endless darkness of the warp.
Facing one-on-one with his fellow brothers was a small matters.
Ji-hoon leaned back, a small, satisfied smile framed through his exhaustion.
Three weeks of steady progress—forging alliances, turning back early Ork invasions, bringing compliant worlds into the fold without needless slaughter.
In his mind those weeks stretched into years of lived experience.
"Kaiser… look how far you've come," he whispered to the screen. "When the real horrors arrive, you'll be ready. You'll be perfect."
A warm pride settled in his chest. This wasn't the broken failure of forgotten lore anymore. This was his creation, his ideal Primarch, built carefully for the wars yet to come.
However, before he was able to proceed, pain struck—sharp and merciless, like a blade driven straight through his ribs.
"—Ha!"
His hand flew to his chest. His breath wouldn't come. The room spun slowly. The monitor's light blurred until even Kaiser's glowing eyes faded into shadow.
"No… not yet… not like this…"
His final thought carried a wry edge of self-mockery.
He could vaguely saw the expression of his own creations, the Primarch Zero, as darkness creeped into his visions.
Then, the world dissolved into nothing.
…
Consciousness returned slowly, with a deep-resonant awareness spreading through every fiber of an impossibly large body.
Ji-hoon first felt strength—immense and powerful. His limbs were heavy with ceramite and reinforced bone, fused so perfectly that armor and flesh were one.
Golden light filtered through high, arched windows carved with endless rows of Imperial aquilas and laurels. The air carried the faint scent of incense, sanctified oils, and aged stone.
He stood in a grand chamber of white marble veined with gold. Towering statues of saints lined the walls, their stone faces serene and unyielding. Massive braziers burned with blue-white flame that never smoked.
Far above, a domed ceiling painted with scenes of the Emperor's ascension arched like the vault of heaven itself.
This was no warship
This was a shrine—vast, holy, and unmistakably devoted to the God-Emperor.
A cathedral on a shrine-world, one of those sacred planets where every street, every spire, every breath served the Imperial Cult.
Kaiser Hanzelorn flexed his wings. Warp-flame rippled along the mechanical edges, controlled and amusing.
He looked down at hands that could crush battle tanks. Felt the thunder of gene-seed singing in his veins.
Voices drifted from the shadows beyond the nearest archway—soft chants of pilgrims, the clink of censers, the murmur of Ecclesiarchy priests in their robes.
No Primarch brothers waited here. No Guilliman kneeling in reverence. No Horus with his easy grin. Just the quiet devotion of a world that had not yet seen the Warmaster's arrival.
Ji-hoon—or the fragment of him that still remembered a monitor and a cold apartment—felt a slow, dangerous smile spread across his new face.
He took one step forward. The marble floor trembled faintly under his weight.
'Well… this is unexpected. Am I transmigrated into Kaiser's body?'