"Dawn is coming." Dukel gazed at the darkness blanketing Terra's sky and exhaled deeply, as if sighing from the depths of his soul.
"Brother, the Munitorum's preparations are complete," Guilliman reported at his side.
"Good." Dukel nodded. "Let's hope this hastens the dawn's arrival."
According to intelligence gathered by the Adepta Astra Telepathica, the so-called Murderous Ghost had arrived at the fortress of the Departmento Munitorum as expected.
Word of this swiftly reached the informants among the Terran nobility. The once-arrogant lords and bureaucrats, accustomed to acting with impunity, now felt a cold dread seep into their bones.
The flames of purgation ignited by the Inquisition and the Adeptus Arbites had yet to subside, and now a newly arrived Primarch was fanning the inferno, directing it towards the Departmento Munitorum.
What seemed like an indiscriminate purge was, in truth, a reckoning—an unstoppable wildfire spreading across the Imperium, consuming corruption wherever it took root.
It had only been three hours since Dukel's arrival on Terra.
A Primarch had no need for rest, and as the long night stretched on, many among the Imperium's ruling class found themselves plunged into despair.
They knew well that for those with dark secrets, this night of fire and judgment would feel eternal.
But Dukel was not merely a conqueror; he was a tactician. He understood the nobility's fears and was considerate enough to reassure them:
"Be at ease, gentlemen. Though I have come in pursuit of justice—to investigate the assassination of His Majesty and to suppress the treason festering within Terra—I am not a butcher without cause. The Inquisition and the Arbites were found guilty of colluding with the Murderous Ghost; their punishment was deserved. However, I have reason to suspect that the Departmento Munitorum is being framed. Until I uncover the full truth, I will not pass judgment."
No one felt reassured by his words.
In a mere three hours, Dukel—now dubbed the Lord of Destruction—had carved his reputation into the Imperium's history. Wherever he tread, blood flowed. Where he investigated, he purged with fire.
The Lord of the Second Legion sighed inwardly.
"No matter. Actions will speak for themselves. Soon, the truth will be laid bare."
Twenty minutes later, Dukel and his retinue arrived at the Departmento Munitorum's fortress. The moment they disembarked from their transport, the facility was swiftly encircled.
Word had already spread, and a crowd of Terran citizens had gathered to witness history unfold. Even in the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, human curiosity remained unchanged.
However, none dared to speak out. The citizens of Terra, even its lowest dregs, knew better than to meddle in the affairs of Primarchs and High Lords. Watching was one thing; commenting might earn them a bolter round to the skull.
"Supreme Lord, command them to open the gates." Dukel turned to the High Lord standing at the rear of the group, a polite yet commanding smile on his face.
"As a loyal subject who reported the Departmento Munitorum's misconduct under your own name, you deserve this honor. Rest assured, with me, the Lord Regent, and the Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard present, no one would dare to silence you."
The High Lord's expression stiffened as he forced a smile. "Your Highness, your presence is more dazzling than the Astronomican itself."
Dukel accepted the flattery as a matter of course. "Many say so. Perhaps I lack in other skills, but my character? Unmatched—even by the saintly Guilliman. You have a keen eye. That must be why you saw through the corruption within the Adeptus Arbites, the Munitorum, and the Inquisition."
The High Lord's forced grin froze completely.
Compared to the Primarch, he was but a child.
As one of Terra's rulers, he had witnessed countless intrigues and manipulations. Yet, never had he encountered someone as sharp and unrelenting as Dukel.
Worse still, there was nothing he could do but endure it.
With heavy steps, the High Lord approached the fortress gates and relayed their purpose.
"The Departmento Munitorum oversees the Imperium's military supply chains—armaments, recruitment, and deployment. It ensures that the soldiers of the Astra Militarum fight without logistical constraints and remain steadfast in their duty to the Emperor. Gentlemen, I will uncover the truth and clear the Departmento Munitorum's name if it is indeed innocent. Justice will prevail, and no loyal servant of the Emperor shall be wrongly condemned."
Standing before the imposing gates, Dukel turned to the assembled crowd and once more vowed to uphold justice.
"Good!"
"Praise the Primarch! Praise the Emperor!"
"His Majesty's son is a beacon of righteousness!"
The people cheered.
To them, Dukel was a champion of justice, tirelessly seeking the truth. They heard only his oath of fairness, saw only his noble resolve.
But was it truly so?
Amid the applause, the massive gates of the fortress slowly creaked open.
Yet instead of a dignitary or a general, the first to emerge was a military transport. From its back, three towering Astra Militarum officers disembarked. Their uniforms were gone; in their place were chains binding their wrists and ankles.
With a heavy thud, they dropped to their knees before the Primarch.
"Lord Primarch, we are guilty!"
Three battle-hardened generals of the Astra Militarum knelt at Dukel's feet, their voices trembling with emotion.
The demigod, rarely taken aback, regarded them with measured calm. Then, in a voice firm yet compassionate, he spoke:
"Though I do not yet know your crimes, the Imperium does not deny salvation to those who seek penance. Speak."
Tears streaked their weathered faces as they raised their heads. The words that followed sent shockwaves through the gathered crowd.
"Great Lord of the Second Legion, as generals of the Astra Militarum, we report the Chief of the General Staff by name. He has betrayed the Emperor's ideals and the sacred trust His Majesty placed in him! He has formed corrupt cabals, violated Imperial law, accepted bribes, and abused his power. He has embezzled vast sums meant for Astra Militarum pensions and manipulated the chain of command for personal gain!"
Their accusations thundered across the square, leaving all in stunned silence.
Dukel, however, was not shocked.
He simply glanced at Guilliman, who remained impassive.
So, the Lord of Ultramar had his own cunning after all.
Perhaps the Lion had reason to fear Guilliman's machinations.
Before anyone could recover from the admiral's declaration, Roboute Guilliman stepped forward, his voice low but firm.
"General, accusations should never be made lightly without solid evidence. Integrity is a virtue every son of Macragge must uphold."
The three admirals stiffened, their gazes resolute, unyielding in their conviction. One of them stepped forward, his voice unwavering.
"Lord Regent, we may be sons of Macragge, but this time, we cannot stand with you. Are you asking us to fabricate evidence and shield the Chief of the General Staff? Should we forsake justice for the mere appearance of stability? Forgive us, my lord, but we cannot yield."
"You—!"
Guilliman's expression darkened, his gauntleted hand rising as though to strike, yet he held his silence. He could feel the weight of countless eyes upon him, the assembled Imperial officials, nobles, and officers of Terra watching keenly. His fingers curled into a fist before he slowly exhaled, allowing his hand to fall.
"Do you truly believe I would defend corruption?" Guilliman's voice was edged with steel. "My concern is that, in the pursuit of power, you might unjustly accuse your superior and lead the Imperium astray."
Even Dukel found himself admiring the Lord Regent's performance. Guilliman had turned their words against them, dismantling potential accusations in two swift strokes. First, he distanced himself from the Macragge-born admirals, making it clear their accusations were independent of his influence. Second, he preemptively countered claims that this was a mere political struggle by emphasizing the danger of false allegations.
The admirals, however, refused to be deterred.
"Lord Regent, the values instilled in us by Macragge do not permit such dishonor. The Chief of Staff has betrayed the Emperor's ideals! We act not for ourselves, but for the Imperium, to purge corruption in His name."
Guilliman's eyes were heavy as he studied them. The gathered crowd murmured, uncertain, yet the applause that followed rang through the grand hall.
"What loyalty!"
"How could they be acting for their own gain when they risk so much?"
"We stand with the admirals!"
The three officers saluted with the Sky Eagle gesture, their voices ringing clear.
"The Chief of Staff has, on multiple occasions, claimed that the Imperium belongs to the nobility—that the Astra Militarum is nothing more than a guard dog to serve them. Such blasphemy against the Emperor and His subjects is intolerable! The Imperium belongs to His Majesty and His people! Those who betray Him are the eternal foes of Macragge!"
"For the Emperor!"
The roar of the crowd shook the hall. Even Guilliman's lips curled in the faintest hint of approval.
Dukel stepped forward, his tone measured. "The honor of Macragge is well known, and the Second Legion respects reason above all else. But accusations alone are not enough. Do you have evidence?"
"We do."
With a signal, several Astra Militarum soldiers stepped forward, carefully unloading a device from a military transport.
"These are holographic records—proof of the Chief of Staff's abuses of power. Embezzlement of Astra Militarum supplies, suppression of political opponents, and leveraging his position for personal gain. Some were recorded by the Chief of Staff himself, intending to use them for blackmail. Others we recorded in secret, knowing that without such evidence, none would believe us. These files have been verified and show no signs of tampering."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Terra's citizens, drawn by curiosity, edged closer. No one dared to stop them, not with two Primarchs present. And soon, the evidence played before their eyes.
Blood Angels' Palace
Far from the halls of Terra, within the grand palace of the Blood Angels, a youthful figure sat upon a resplendent throne.
Little Sanguinius, his golden locks a halo around his youthful face, listened as Dante knelt before him, delivering his report.
"Holy Father, the Inquisition has fallen."
"Holy Father, the Adeptus Arbites is in disarray."
"Holy Father, the Officio Assassinorum is gone."
The final words lingered. "Holy Father, the Departmento Munitorum is barely standing."
Sanguinius' bright eyes gleamed, his cherubic face alight with an almost childlike excitement. "Guilliman is already at odds with three Macragge officers?"
He had expected Dukel's return to stir Terra, but this was beyond even his wildest imaginings. And yet, what truly baffled him was how quickly Guilliman had been swept into the storm.
"Dante, how long until we arrive on Terra?"
Dante hesitated. "Not yet, my lord. Perhaps four standard hours."
The youthful Primarch sighed, reclining against his throne. "My brother is truly the vanguard of the Imperium."
His momentary excitement faded, a shadow passing over his eyes. "And yet I remain too weak to stand beside them. Too weak to contribute to our shared vision."
Dante's expression softened. "Holy Father, there is no need for regret. You are a noble being—above such struggles."
Sanguinius let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Dante, do not placate me with empty words. Nobility is merely another weapon of war. The best strategies are those that achieve victory at minimal cost."
Dante nodded solemnly. "You are wise, my lord."
Yet even as he spoke, he saw a flicker of mischief in the young Primarch's eyes. A strange thought crossed his mind—
Could it be?
Was his lord not only intrigued by the political maneuvering but also… entertained by it?
He swiftly dismissed the notion. The Archangel was divine, far beyond such trivial amusement.
And yet, the thought remained.
The grand doors of the palace opened, and Mephiston, Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels, strode in, bowing deeply.
"Holy Father, the Grand Master of the Star Whisper Court requests an audience."
The Star Whisper Court—one of the Imperium's most powerful institutions, rivaling even the Inquisition. Their influence spanned all sanctioned psykers, from Astropaths to Battle Psykers, and rumors spoke of Alpha-level individuals within their ranks. Moreover, they commanded an elite sect of the Sisters of Silence, anathema to all psykers.
Dante tensed, eyes narrowing. "Holy Father, no doubt he comes seeking clemency for Terra's nobles. You would do well to refuse."
Sanguinius merely smiled. "Then let us welcome our guest."
Dante's eyes widened in alarm. He turned to his Primarch and found him watching him with playful amusement.
A foreboding sensation settled in his chest.
Something was about to unfold.
After a moment, Dukel led the Grand Master into the throne room.
"Praise be to you, great Archangel," the Grand Master of the Astronomican intoned humbly, bowing deeply.
"Grand Master, what brings you here at such an hour?" Dukel asked, his voice calm but firm.
"My Lord, I must speak with you alone."
"Presumptuous!"
Before the Grand Master could continue, Dante's voice rang out, filled with barely restrained fury.
A mere psyker seeking a private audience with an angelic Primarch? Such arrogance was unthinkable to the sons of Sanguinius. Even Mephiston, the Lord of Death, cast a dark and warning gaze upon the Grand Master.
"It is fine," Little Sanguinius—Dukel—interrupted with a wave of his hand.
"Holy Father, but—"
Dante began to object, but a second motion from Dukel silenced him.
"Go, Dante."
Dante hesitated, his every instinct rebelling against the command, but after a moment, he relented. "As you will, Father."
With a final glance at the Grand Master, Dante and Mephiston withdrew, their crimson-clad forms vanishing beyond the great doors.
The chamber grew silent.
The Grand Master opened his mouth to speak—but then, before his very eyes, Sanguinius, the purest of all Primarchs, clutched his chest. A terrible, wet cough wracked his form.
Puff!
A mist of blood burst from his lips, staining his pristine white wings. He slumped upon the throne, his golden form marred by crimson streaks. His voice rang out, hoarse but unyielding.
"Grand Master, even if I should perish, I will never betray His Majesty's ideals. I will not raise my hand against my brothers for the sake of maggots bloated with corruption!"
The Grand Master's mind reeled.
What?
What treachery had he committed? Had he uttered a single word against the Emperor's will?
What in the Throne's name was happening?
But there was no time to think. Dukel sagged against his throne, perfectly embodying the image of a mortally wounded martyr.
"Grand Master, even should you threaten my very life, I will never yield! The Emperor's son shall never bargain with the wicked!"
The words were not his own.
They were Dukel's, stolen directly from something he had once heard his master say to the Grand Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites. And yet, in this moment, they served his purpose perfectly.
The Grand Master finally understood.
And in that instant, terror seized him.
"It… it wasn't me…" he stammered, the frigid weight of doom settling upon his shoulders.
A terrible aura of wrath and bloodlust filled the chamber, drowning him in a suffocating tide of death. He turned, desperate for reason, for mercy—but found none.
Towering figures emerged from the shadows—Primaris Blood Angels, each over three meters tall, their crimson armor gleaming like fresh-spilled ichor. Their eyes glowed with the deep, haunting scarlet of the Black Rage. Fangs, sharp and predatory, gleamed at the edges of their lips.
They saw their Holy Father, sprawled across his throne, bloodied and defiled.
In mere moments, the chamber became a slaughterhouse.
Within ten minutes, Terra was ablaze with the news: the Grand Master of the Astronomican had attempted to assassinate the Primarch Sanguinius.
And as the sun set upon the Throneworld, over ten thousand Blood Angels took flight, their crimson forms streaking through the heavens like vengeful wraiths. The night sky of Terra wept blood as they descended upon the Astronomican with all the fury of the Angel's sons.