Deep in the Imperial Palace on Terra, in a dungeon steeped in darkness and oppression.
Complex runes and patterns were carved into the thick stone walls. They seemed to hold ancient, powerful forces, meant to seal and suppress some unspeakable presence.
At the end of the dungeon stood a door marked with the number 11.
"Know your enemy. Cheers!"
Francis lifted the golden chalice before him and drained it in one go.
The sticky, foul taste made Francis want another cup!
Then a stream of genetic information came from the liquid.
"Ork genes"
"Likes having Gretchin scratch him."
"Born on a green plain, where the slightly toxic air is even a little sweet~"
"..."
The muddled information made Francis want to skip it instinctively.
Until two enormous Ork heads suddenly appeared in his mind, roaring.
"Waaagh~"
Before Francis could recover from the shock, he saw his arms swell violently, transforming into Ork arms.
He couldn't help roaring, too. "Waaagh~"
When Francis came to his senses, he saw—
His hands had piled a few scraps of junk metal together, and then the junk pile flew into the air!
"Huh???"
Francis stared blankly at the scene. This was even more shocking than his transmigration.
By consuming Ork blood, he could actually gain Ork abilities!
That was right. He had transmigrated.
Half a month ago, he'd seen the news on television that Horus II had launched successfully.
He'd casually remarked, "May the Four Gods not notice it."
Then he'd gone to sleep and woken up here.
After crawling out of a battered black iron coffin on the floor, he'd seen the words on its lid: "Subject XI."
"This can't be a coincidence."
At first, he'd thought he was just imagining things after playing too much Warhammer.
Until a warm, benevolent voice sounded in his mind—
"Hey~ How did you come back to life? Where did the thing that ran in here go? (Gilded lettering)"
Clearly, this was the big golden guy—the Emperor.
He was the leader who'd guided humanity into space, the pioneer who'd spread reason and technology, and the father of twenty Primarchs.
"Most honored Emperor, I don't know what you mean."
Francis immediately dropped to one knee and spoke with feigned piety.
"...You don't even want to call me Father anymore?"
At this, Francis's breathing grew noticeably more rapid. He tentatively replied,
"I don't remember what happened before. Who am I?"
"You are my son, Francis Crick, the eleventh Primarch and master of the Soul Drinkers Legion."
Boom!
Francis's mind exploded. What had he just heard?
His father was the Emperor?
And he was the eleventh Primarch, kept in cold storage?
Everyone knew the Emperor had created twenty Primarchs so humanity could conquer the universe.
Every Primarch had a legion of sons of his own.
He'd only just arrived, and already had a dad and hundreds, even thousands, of sons?!
And the kind who didn't need a wife—single-sex reproduction!
"My goodness. At least I don't have to buy them houses."
Francis patted his chest. It was hard as a rock!
Come to think of it, being a Primarch did have its perks.
Some could handle hundreds of administrative matters at once, some possessed incredible strength, some had beautiful wings, and one could even live forever and was good at barbecuing!
"You seem to have fused with an unknown substance. I'll find a way to deal with it."
Francis's heart skipped a beat.
Had I possessed the Primarch's body?
Damn, or could this be the trick of ■■■■? I was Francis all along.
Francis's thoughts were a mess. All he could manage was a numb reply.
"Yes, Father."
His voice echoed through the air. Silence followed for a long while.
Then the Emperor's affectionate voice sounded again.
"Do you think humanity can coexist peacefully with Xenos?"
The gentle question doused Francis like a bucket of cold water, instantly bringing him to his senses.
This was a question that could get him killed!
If he answered wrong, he'd probably get "deleted" again.
Francis pretended to straighten his clothes, then stood ramrod straight. "No. Every Xenos poses a threat to fragile humanity!"
Clearly, he'd answered correctly.
The Emperor said nothing more, but the fact that Francis hadn't been killed told him enough.
He'd made the right choice.
In the days that followed, a horde of court physicians and Apothecaries tried all sorts of ways to examine Francis's body. There were even women among them.
"Damn, that's a long tube. Is that how you do a gastroscopy?"
"Urgh~ You—urgh~"
"I am—urgh~ I am the Emperor's son!"
"I've—urgh~ I've bled for the Imperium—urgh~"
Francis's limbs twitched incessantly, just to make his body, now thoroughly stuffed with all kinds of tubes, a little more comfortable.
"Relax. Just hang in there a little longer. It'll be over soon."
"Doctor, I think you forgot the anesthetic!"
"...Let's just leave it at that!"
Under the examinations of these unscrupulous doctors, his various bodily metrics were calculated one by one.
"Appearance: no issues!"
"Internal organs: no issues!"
"Brain: normal!"
"Degree of genetic mutation: slightly elevated!"
"..."
Francis shed tears of regret. He never wanted to come to this world again!
"Everything else is normal, aside from a change there."
The Emperor's words left Francis confused, but it didn't matter. He felt completely seen through now.
The Emperor would sometimes speak with him, seemingly trying to confirm something.
But Francis also learned a few things from their conversations.
For instance, that the unprecedented civil war hadn't happened yet. Humanity still had hope.
As for what had happened to him before, he hadn't gotten any specific information.
The only thing Francis knew was that his abilities seemed to have grown stronger after everything he'd been through.
For example, just now, by devouring Ork blood, he'd gained their most outrageous ability: Waaagh Energy!
When Francis came back from his memories, he saw that his hands had returned to normal.
Even when he roared, "Waaagh~" nothing changed. He'd even taken the "junk pile" out of the air and set it down.
When he tried to make the "junk pile" fly again, he couldn't activate the ability. It seemed to have turned back into a genuine junk pile.
Clearly,
he still didn't fully understand his own abilities.
Fortunately, his dear father had gradually sent people to bring him things to experiment on.
The Ork blood was one of the samples he'd mentioned earlier.
Otherwise, he could have gone stir-crazy in this pitch-black cell even if he wasn't sick to begin with.
At first, the room had contained only some strange diagrams and the coffin. Now it was much livelier.
For instance, there was a golden chalice in the left corner, and another golden chalice in the right corner...
Of course, there were also plenty of devices for studying genetic modification. He just wanted to get familiar with the things in this world ahead of time.
Francis absolutely did not arrange Power Armour parts on his bed while he slept.
As he wondered what kind of species' flesh and blood sample they'd bring him next,
heavy footsteps sounded outside, accompanied by the metallic clang of armor.
Clank, clank, clank~
"Francis, your sample has arrived."
Constantin Valdor's distinctive, resonant voice rang out. Even without seeing him, one could tell that its owner was a real man!
"Hey, Constantin. When can I get out of here?"
He watched as Valdor placed the sample in a box made of Blackstone, then used a tool to send it through the psychic barrier into Francis's room.
"I don't know. Only the Emperor can decide whether you may leave."
As he spoke, the wariness in Valdor's eyes did not lessen.
Francis: "..."
The way Valdor acted even made Francis think he might strike and kill him at any moment.
"The Emperor's in grave danger. Let me out, and I can fix it."
At Francis's words, a pair of cold eyes appeared beneath the huge golden helmet. Valdor replied quietly, "Indeed. Your existence is extremely dangerous to the Emperor."
Francis: "???"
He was the Master of Ten Thousand, the Aegis of the Emperor, the first Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, Shield-Marshal of the ancient Guard, and the elite bodyguard of the Master of Mankind.
How could they treat the Emperor's son like this!
The more Francis thought about it, the angrier he got. He grabbed the sample from the box and started gulping it down.
This one tasted much better than the Ork blood. It made his mouth tingle a little, but the texture was smooth, with a faint hint of grass.
Before you continue