Prelude: Yeong Personal Account.

This work is purely fanfiction and doesn't have any relation to the property of Game Workshop or DC.

I don't own Warhammer 40k or DC.

All rights are reserved to those Companies.

Rated M and 18 Plus for Violent and Sexual Content.

Cover Art by arielscar_art on Instagram.

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Prelude: Yeong Personal Account.

My name is Yeong Maxwell, but you can call me Yeong. This account serves as a personal archive, a way to chronicle my journey from its inception to its culmination, and perhaps even beyond. It's also a therapeutic outlet for me, a means to maintain my mental equilibrium amidst experiences that defy the ordinary.

My story is one of life, death, and the extraordinary events that followed—a narrative that transcends the bounds of imagination.

I seldom share my life's tale, preferring to keep it private. However, I'll make an exception just this once.

Born into the Maxwell family on June 20, 1999, my beginnings were humble, set against the backdrop of a middle-class American life. My twin sister Bora and I were raised in a household that was nothing out of the ordinary, our days marked by the typical experiences of Asian-American children. Our roots trace back to our grandparents, who, in the aftermath of the Korean War, sought refuge and a new beginning in the United States. They established a life here, which led to the union of our mother and father, and eventually, to the birth of Bora and me.

As a child, I navigated life without the labels of popularity or obscurity, simply existing as another face in the crowd. My life's narrative was unmarked by grand events or milestones; it was, by all accounts, average. Our father and uncle were the proprietors of a modest family enterprise, while our mother imparted knowledge as a schoolteacher. Bora and I enjoyed a childhood free from turmoil, characterized by the stability and love that our family provided.

In the tapestry of my childhood dreams, the figure of a sheriff from the classic Westerns stood tall. Those films, with their tales of valor and justice, left an indelible mark on my young mind. My parents, ever my pillars of support, encouraged me to chase the dream of donning the star-shaped badge.

Bora, my twin, was the archetype of scholarly excellence. Her academic prowess was evident early on, and by ten, she was already navigating the halls of high school. Though we both were endowed with gifts, Bora's intellectual feats often outshone mine. Her path seemed destined for medicine, a journey our parents watched with pride-filled eyes.

Our twin bond was a tapestry woven with shared secrets and mutual support, a closeness that only twins can truly understand. Our childhood games mirrored our ambitions—me as the sheriff, Bora as the doctor—our backyard adventures a prelude to our future aspirations.

At fourteen, the winds of change carried us to the rugged beauty of Alaska. The move was a canvas of excitement and anticipation, and soon, Anchorage's outskirts became our new frontier. The Alaskan wilderness was a playground of endless discovery, its majestic landscapes a constant source of awe.

The cultural mosaic of Alaska was unlike anything we had known, yet our family's unity made the transition seamless. We found warmth and camaraderie in our new community, forging friendships that enriched our lives.

As we turned sixteen, the time came to carve our individual paths. Bora's heart was set on medicine, while I was drawn to the call of law enforcement. Our choices led us down separate roads—Bora to the University of Alaska Fairbanks, and I to the police academy. The decision to part ways was bittersweet, yet it was a step towards fulfilling our dreams.

The academy was a crucible of growth, its challenges shaping me into a deputy sheriff. Meanwhile, Bora's brilliance shone through in her medical studies, her dedication bringing her closer to her goal with each passing day.

Our bond remained unbroken by distance, our successes a shared celebration. Life seemed to be a journey on a tranquil river, until the day of 28, November 2024. That day, an ordinary shift transformed into a mission to find lost hikers in Denali National Park—a day that would alter the course of my life forever.

The day was November 28, 2024, a date now etched in the annals of my memory with a bittersweet tinge. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of spruce and the promise of adventure. As a deputy sheriff, I had embraced many challenges, but none like the one that awaited me in the sprawling wilderness of Denali National Park.

The distress call came as a jolt, shattering the tranquility of the station. Hikers lost—a situation not uncommon in the vast Alaskan expanse, yet every instance was a race against the unforgiving elements. I donned my gear, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders like an old, familiar cloak.

The journey was arduous, a battle against time and terrain. The chopper blades cut through the silence of the park, a relentless drone that was both a harbinger of hope and a reminder of the dangers that lay ahead. As we touched down, the reality of our mission came into sharp focus—the hikers were out there, somewhere, and every second mattered.

I led the search, my eyes scanning for signs of life amidst the sea of white. The cold was relentless, a biting chill that sought to pierce through every layer of protection. But it was in these moments of adversity that I felt most alive, my purpose clear and my resolve unwavering.

Then, a breakthrough—a flash of color against the snow, the unmistakable sign of human presence. We found them, huddled together, a small group clinging to the last vestiges of warmth. Relief flooded through me, but it was short-lived. The journey back was fraught with peril, a treacherous trek that would test the limits of my endurance.

As we navigated the icy paths, a storm descended upon us with a fury that seemed almost personal. The wind howled, a primal scream that drowned out all other sounds. It was then that I made the decision—the hikers' safety would come at any cost.

It was a long time ago, almost ancient even so the details are hazy, a blur of motion and emotion but I do remember some parts of it. I remember the weight of the fallen branch, the sharp pain that followed, and the warmth of blood that whispered of sacrifice. I remember the faces of those I saved, etched with a gratitude that words could never capture.

And then, there was only darkness—a shroud that engulfed my being, a chill that whispered of oblivion. Was this the embrace of death? A fleeting pause before the soul's voyage into the immaterial? Clarity eluded me, but amidst the void, a burst of radiance pierced through, bringing with it a surge of warmth, and consciousness returned.

I awoke anew, an infant cradled in the desolation of a world unrecognizable, yet eerily solemn. The first breath was one of perplexity, a sensation akin to a vivid dream teetering on the edge of reality.

The visage of the woman who held me was one of ethereal beauty, her features etched with a grace unfamiliar, her gaze imbued with a warmth that beckoned my spirit, her lullaby a balm to my tumultuous thoughts. In her embrace, I found solace, her presence a sanctuary in the vastness of Terra—the cradle of mankind, now a shadow of its former glory, scarred by the Old Night.

She named herself Helena, my mother in this life reborn. My mind, a tempest of emotions and inquiries, could only surrender to her tender care. As her tales of Terra unfolded, the tapestry of this grim, dark future began to weave itself within my understanding.

In the solace of my mother's arms, the enigma of my existence slowly unraveled, revealing the stark reality of my rebirth amidst the stars of the Warhammer 40,000 cosmos—a realm where gods and monsters wage eternal war, and humanity clings to survival in the face of unending conflict.

The term 'isekai' echoes in my mind, a familiar refrain to those who wander the corridors of fiction. It speaks of an 'other world,' a narrative gateway that whisks characters away to realms uncharted. These tales have woven their magic across the globe, enchanting readers with the promise of escape from the mundane tapestry of daily existence.

Yet, the whims of fate have cast me as the protagonist in an 'isekai' of my own—a twist of cosmic irony that has flung me into the most daunting of narratives. The Warhammer 40,000 universe, a tapestry painted in shades of despair, stands as my new reality. It is a universe where the future of humanity teeters on the brink of annihilation, a galaxy where the light of hope struggles against the encroaching shadow of eternal war.

In this grim darkness, the very concept of existence is a battleground, and the human race is but a flicker of light in the vast, consuming darkness. To be reborn here is to step into a saga of monumental strife, where survival is an art and every moment is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

As my consciousness acclimated to this new reality, I found myself thrust into the tumultuous era of the Unification Wars, where Terra was a crucible of power struggles and ideological battles. The Unification Wars raged, a series of conflicts that would eventually lead to the rise of the Emperor of Mankind and the birth of the Imperium. Terra, once a beacon of civilization, had become a fractured world, its continents ruled by techno-barbarian warlords and psychic tyrants.

In this age of strife, the Emperor emerged as a unifying force, a visionary with unparalleled psychic might and a dream of a united humanity. His Thunder Warriors, the precursors to the later Space Marines, fought with ruthless efficiency to bring order to the chaos that had consumed Earth.

Helena, my mother in this new existence, was a scholar of an unknown village on the outskirts of a Hive City, a repository of knowledge amidst the ruins. She was a psyker with precog ability whose visions often guided the lost and desperate souls of Terra. Her precognitive powers were a rare gift, one that drew both reverence and fear from those around her. In the Hive City, where knowledge was as precious as water in a desert, Helena's insights were invaluable.

She foresaw the coming of the Emperor, his rise from the ashes of the Old Night, and the dawning of a new era. Yet, her visions were fragmented, shrouded in the mists of possibility. She knew the path of the future was ever-changing, shaped by the actions of the bold and the desperate alike.

Helena had always spoken of a future where I would stand shoulder to shoulder with the emperor, transcending the bounds of mere mortals. She envisioned me as a golden warrior, pledged in unwavering service to the Emperor, destined for a life adorned with honor and grandeur.

Her words were like seeds of a fantastical dream, difficult to root in reality. The image of becoming a golden warrior, a legendary figure in the Emperor's service, was a tapestry too intricate for my belief.

Yet, disbelief wavered on my second birthday when the Legio Custodes arrived. These golden-armored sentinels, the Emperor's personal guard, carried an undeniable presence of might and command. Accompanying them was Malcador the Sigillite, the Emperor's Regent, a venerable figure robed in wisdom. He delivered a message from the Emperor, affirming Helena's visions and defining my fate as a Custodian, one of the elite defenders of the Emperor.

From that day, Helena entrusted me to the Legio Custodes. My new life was a crucible of relentless physical and mental trials, shaping my resolve and fortitude.

Guided by the Custodians, I refined my martial prowess, becoming adept with a myriad of weapons and combat forms. My golden armor evolved from a mere encasement to a testament to my purpose and fealty to the Emperor. Notably, I excelled as a duelist within the Legio Custodes, my preternatural foresight allowing me to anticipate and neutralize my adversaries' moves with extraordinary accuracy that even my fellow brother and sister within the Legio found remarkable, as if each confrontation was preordained, my instincts orchestrating the rhythm of battle.

This unique foresight, I surmise, could be a legacy of Helena's own precognitive gift, perhaps inherited or bestowed by some enigmatic twist of destiny. This gift distinguished me among my brethren and garnered the esteem of my Custodian mentors.

Under the tutelage of the Custodians, I delved into the esoteric lore of the rising Imperium, learning of the Emperor's grand design and the myriad threats that beset humanity. The galaxy was a tapestry woven with strands of treachery and malice, each thread threatening to unravel the fragile peace that the Imperium struggled to maintain.

I was also known to be a bit of an eccentric, a Maverick within the stoic ranks of the Custodians. While others embraced the rigidity of protocol, I often found myself questioning tradition and seeking alternative approaches to challenges. My unorthodox methods, while met with skepticism at first, soon proved their worth on the battlefield.

As I ascended the ranks of the Custodians, the bonds with my brethren-in-arms grew ever stronger, shaped in the fires of conflict, and solidified through mutual trials. We transcended mere camaraderie; we became kin, our ties sealed by the sacred oaths to protect the Emperor and His vast Imperium.

In my role as a Custodian, I ventured to the galaxy's edge, confronting unspeakable horrors, alien monstrosities, and warp-spawned fiends with unyielding courage. Each confrontation served as a tribute to the Emperor's indomitable will, an opportunity to demonstrate my worthiness of the resplendent golden armor I donned.

Throughout the Great Crusade, following the liberation of the Sol system, I stood shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor and his Primarch, their legions of Space Marines, and the Sister of Silence. Together, we cleaved through the shroud of darkness enveloping the galaxy. Our triumphs were dearly bought, our sacrifices a stark testament to the price of resisting the Imperium's might.

In the tumult of war, I beheld the Emperor's relentless resolve to forge unity among humanity beneath His standard. His ambition was boundless, His approach inexorable, yet within His gaze lingered a trace of sorrow—a silent mourning for the legions fallen in pursuit of His grand design.

To observe discussions of Him in my prior existence was one thing, but to be in His august presence, to feel the sheer force of His psychic might and the gravity of His quest, was to encounter the ineffable. He was more than a sovereign; He was the light of hope in a galaxy engulfed by shadow, the embodiment of mankind's resistance to the creeping abyss. And, if I may be so bold, a deity incarnate.

In matters of lore, I wielded my erstwhile knowledge from my previous universe as a strategic compass, deftly navigating the convoluted skein of alliances and treacheries that wove the galactic tapestry. This lore-laden insight proved an invaluable tool, enabling me to foresee our adversaries' schemes and craft countermeasures to defend the Imperium's dominion. Yet, despite my efforts to avert a great looming catastrophe, it unfolded as though preordained—a grim destiny we were powerless to escape.

As the Great Crusade surged forward, my stature within the Custodian Guard swelled with newfound purpose. Elevated to the esteemed rank of Shield Captain, I was thrust into the vanguard of critical skirmishes, marshaling my kin in arms against the myriad menaces that beset the Imperium. From the xenos-riddled expanses of the Eastern Fringe to the Warp's daemon-infested abysses, my blade, gun, and prescience stood as bulwarks against the looming shadows.

Amidst the tumult of conflict, murmurs of rebellion began to echo through the Imperium's echelons. The insidious tendrils of heresy crept forth, woven by the hands of those bold enough to spurn the Emperor's sacrosanct decree. In the gloom, traitors skulked, their fealty sworn to malevolent deities and perverse creeds.

The Horus Heresy, the Imperium's bleakest epoch, laid bare the full magnitude of betrayal. Horus, erstwhile paragon of the Emperor's progeny, succumbed to depravity, spearheading an insurrection poised to rend the Imperium in twain.

As the storm of rebellion gathered momentum, the Imperium stood on the precipice of annihilation. The betrayal of Horus, once beloved Primarch and Warmaster, sent shockwaves reverberating throughout the galaxy, fracturing alliances and sowing seeds of doubt among the faithful.

In the life I once knew, I had briefly immersed myself in the study of the Heresy in my spare time, absorbing its narratives and visual depictions by Game Workshop with a sort of scholarly fervor, recognizing its critical juncture in the Warhammer 40k saga. Yet, to actually stand within its harrowing reality, to be a spectator to the fracturing of brotherhood, to observe allies of countless battles turn upon each other with ferocious betrayal, was an ordeal of the spirit. The rending of bonds, once believed unbreakable, by the jagged edge of treachery, was a spiritual maelstrom that no amount of lore could have braced me for.

Yet as a Custodian, my faith to the Emperor still burned bright, an unyielding flame amidst the encroaching darkness. Alongside my brethren, I swore a solemn oath to defend the Imperium with every fiber of my being, to stand as an unbreakable shield against the tides of heresy.

The unfolding drama of the Heresy propelled me into the heart of conflict, where the fate of humanity hung in the balance. Battles raged across the stars, each skirmish a crucible of blood and fire, testing the resolve of those who fought in the Emperor's name.

Amidst the chaos, I found myself entrusted with missions of paramount importance, tasked with safeguarding vital assets and thwarting the machinations of the traitor legions. From the siege of Terra to the shadowed depths of the Warp, my journey took me to the very brink of oblivion, where death and damnation lurked at every turn.

The confrontation with the traitor legions was a trial by fire, a test of mettle and resolve. Their ranks swelled with the fallen, their allegiance sworn to gods of darkness and chaos. Yet, against their malevolent onslaught, the Custodians stood resolute, a bastion of unwavering loyalty amidst the tempest of betrayal.

In the crucible of war, alliances were forged and broken, heroes rose and fell, and the fate of the Imperium hung in the balance. Each battle was a symphony of carnage, a tapestry of heroism and sacrifice woven with the blood of the faithful.

As the Heresy reached its climax, the forces of darkness converged upon Terra, intent on delivering the death blow to the Emperor's realm. The siege was a cataclysmic struggle, a titanic clash of wills that would determine the fate of humanity for millennia to come.

In the heart of the storm, I stood alongside my brethren, our golden armor gleaming in the flickering light of battle. Against the traitor hordes, we fought with unmatched ferocity, our blades cutting through the traitor marine rank like a scythe through wheat. The din of combat was deafening, a cacophony of screams and clashes that echoed across the scarred plains of Terra.

Amidst the chaos, I glimpsed Horus, once the Emperor's favored son, now a twisted reflection of his former glory. His eyes burned with hatred, his soul consumed by the whispers of the Ruinous Powers. In that moment, I beheld the depths of his corruption, a darkness that threatened to engulf the galaxy in eternal night.

As the battle raged on, I found myself locked in a duel with a champion of the traitor legions, Lucius the Eternal of the Emperor's Children. Lucius was a master swordsman and was considered to be a formidable opponent, his skill with the blade was matched only by his arrogance and cruelty, so now he seeks to challenge one of the best dualists of the Legio Custodes.

Lucius the Eternal's challenge was a testament to his hubris, a bid to prove his supremacy over the Emperor's Custodians. With every clash of our blades, I felt the weight of his malice, his every strike aimed to shatter my resolve and claim victory.

Our clash was a dance of death, blades flashing in the dim light of battle. Each strike and parry was executed with precision, the rhythm of combat driving us onward with relentless intensity. Lucius fought with the arrogance of one who believed victory was assured, his contempt for his opponents evident in every movement.

But I, too, was no stranger to the dance of blades. With my precognitive abilities guiding my actions, I anticipated Lucius's every move, countering his attacks with calculated efficiency. Our duel was a testament to the artistry of combat, a symphony of skill and strategy played out upon the blood-soaked stage of Terra.

As the duel reached its climax, each strike and parry a testament to the mastery of our respective arts, I found myself on the brink of victory. With every movement, I could sense the ebb and flow of the battle, my precognitive instincts guiding my blade with unerring accuracy.

But just as triumph seemed within my grasp, a sudden disturbance rippled through the fabric of reality. A rift in the warp, yawning wide like a gaping maw hungry for souls, tore open before us, its malevolent energies twisting and writhing with unfathomable hunger.

Caught off guard by the sudden disruption, I hesitated for the briefest of moments, a lapse in concentration that proved to be my undoing. In that fleeting instant, Lucius seized the opportunity, delivering a devastating blow that sent me reeling.

As I stumbled backward, my senses reeling from the shock of the attack, I felt the cold embrace of the warp reaching out to claim me. With a desperate lunge, I attempted to regain my footing, but it was too late. The swirling vortex of chaos engulfed me, pulling me into its depths with a force that defied comprehension.

In that moment of chaos and uncertainty, I felt myself slipping away, my consciousness consumed by the maelstrom of the warp. Images flashed before my eyes, a kaleidoscope of horrors and wonders that defied explanation.

And then, the maelstrom of warp energy ceased as abruptly as it had erupted, leaving me adrift in the Immaterium's boundless void. Isolated and bewildered, I endeavored to comprehend my environs, my consciousness staggering under the enormity of what had transpired.

Then, he manifested.

Amidst the Immaterium's roiling mists, where chaos reigned supreme, a presence coalesced before me, its form ever-shifting, mirroring the warp's capricious flows. It was none other than Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, the Master of Fortune, the deity of sorcery, ambition, and guile.

The aura of Tzeentch was at once magnificent and dreadful, his penetrating gaze slicing through reality's veil, threatening to dissolve my very core. His visage was a prism of shifting colors, each shade a glimpse into his infinite might and enigmatic intent.

In the full glory of the Chaos God, I was engulfed by a profound terror yet touched by a trace of wonder, for in Tzeentch's domain, all was mutable, and reality itself danced to his tune.

His voice, a resonant peal within my psyche, spoke of power and secrets, his utterances a labyrinth of enigmas and partial truths. He named me an anomaly, an alien essence within this cosmos, an enigma within fate's weave.

And a notable obstruction to his vast schemes, thus he chose to confront this obstacle directly. He had forged the rift that had ensnared me, drawn me into his dominion, and ensnared me in what was, in essence, a snare of demise.

As Tzeentch's shadow loomed, a primal, quintessentially human fear seized my soul. His pronouncements reverberated in my mind's recesses, each word heavy with the portent of fate and ruin. In that instant, I perceived the precariousness of my destiny, suspended between the caprices of a deity and the fragile filament of my existence.

With a mere gesture, Tzeentch unleashed a deluge of warp energies, a tempest of pure force that shrouded me in its otherworldly clasp. The experience was unparalleled, a maelstrom of impressions that menaced to disintegrate me.

Engulfed by the warp storm, I sensed my being disassembling, my essence fraying amidst the Immaterium's tumultuous eddies. The agony was excruciating, a cacophony of torment and desolation that nearly obliterated me.

I battled against the formidable surge of might but to no avail. Tzeentch's dominion was overwhelming, his hold on my spirit unyielding. As I was drawn deeper into the abyss, resignation suffused me, for I accepted that my end was inevitable.

In the tumultuous embrace of the warp, my existence flickered before me, yet it was not the life I was living that shone brightest, but the one I had left behind. The memories of Yeong Maxwell, a life rooted in the modest soil of middle-class America, aspirations of donning a sheriff's badge, the Alaskan odyssey, and the cherished connections with kin, especially my twin sister Bora, and comrades—these recollections surged through me, anchoring me to my own previous yet currently shrouded humanity amidst the warp's unfathomable abyss.

As the resonance of my present self waned into the void, tranquility enfolded me, a gentle acquiescence to the inevitable. In this juncture of capitulation, I welcomed the enigma of the great beyond, releasing the weights of bygone days and yielding to the caprice of the void. Encircled by the encroaching gloom, I sealed my eyes in anticipation.

Yet, akin to the cessation of my previous life, this was not the finale. It was merely a prelude.

End of the prelude.

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Hey everyone! Thanks for reading this chapter! I hope you enjoy it. As always, please remember to leave a review and tell me what you think.