Dukel had aided his loyal Supreme Council Chief, Sanguinius, and the Blood Angels in remaining within the Astropathic Court for an extended period. The Archangels seemed almost addicted to their theatrical gestures of mercy, while the Astropaths, in turn, were grateful for the angels' forgiveness. It was a reciprocal performance—both parties playing their roles.
At present, Dukel was flipping through the documents in his hands.
The Senatorum Imperialis—the Council of High Lords—was the ruling body of the Imperium. Comprising twelve seats, it was filled by the highest-ranking bureaucrats from the most powerful institutions within the Imperium. Below these principal members were numerous native High Lords of Terra, assisting in governance.
In essence, the Senatorum represented the totality of Terra's political power. The Inquisition, the Adeptus Arbites, the Departmento Munitorum, the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, and the Officio Assassinorum—each possessing authority beyond measure—held seats within the High Lords' chamber.
It was precisely for this reason that Dukel chose to deal with the Senatorum first. Were he to act against these institutions prematurely, it would be tantamount to making enemies of the entire Imperium.
For ten thousand years, as the Emperor remained entombed upon the Golden Throne, the Senatorum had functioned as his governing proxy, managing nearly all of the Imperium's day-to-day affairs. Though their authority was a mere fraction of the Emperor's true power, the weight of their responsibilities was immense, and it shaped them into a uniquely burdensome nobility.
The Imperium was akin to a mortally wounded beast, staggering on the brink of collapse. Yet even in its decrepitude, there were still High Lords who labored tirelessly to manage its millions of worlds and oversee the fates of trillions of Imperial citizens spread across the stars.
The workload was immense—even the Primarchs felt its crushing weight.
While other dignitaries reveled in their excesses, there were those among the High Lords who, despite their boundless authority and prestige, worked ceaselessly, often to the point of death. Many could have indulged in every pleasure the Imperium had to offer, yet some perished at their desks, consumed by duty. The Imperium had endured for ten thousand years not only through tyranny but through sacrifice.
Dukel's eyes settled on a particular dossier in his hands. It contained information about Lev Tillon—the current Lord High President of the Senatorum Imperialis and Master of the Administratum.
Guilliman himself had provided this report. The Lord Commander had not only refrained from opposing Tillon but even held a degree of admiration for him.
Dukel was already familiar with the name. In this galaxy of perpetual darkness, Lev Tillon had lived a life more eventful than even the famed Commissar Ciaphas Cain.
In another timeline, Lev had been the one to order the Imperial Guard to stand aside and welcome the Regent's return to Terra. He had witnessed Guilliman's climactic battle against Magnus the Red on Luna, endured the horrors of Khorne's daemonic incursion, received the Grey Knights, boarded the wreckage of Abaddon's warship, and faced the machinations of the Ruinous Powers with unwavering resolve. In the end, after the launch of the Indomitus Crusade, he had died—not in despair, but with hope.
No matter how deep the Imperium's corruption ran, the selfless flames of its heroes could never be fully extinguished.
"But even the hearts of mortals can be deeper than the abyss," Dukel murmured, setting the dossier aside. He understood that no document alone could truly define a person's character.
A sudden sensation prickled at the edge of his perception. He looked up.
A shadow darker than Terra's night sky loomed atop a distant Gothic clock tower.
Konrad Curze.
The Primarch of the Night Lords stood like a specter upon the spire, his form wreathed in an eerie glow. His movements had become unnervingly fast—far beyond what Dukel had recalled from their last encounter.
From the bell tower's peak, Curze gazed upon Terra's scorched ruins. The fires of war had begun to die down, and in their wake, a new order would inevitably rise.
"Koz, what are you planning?" Dukel asked. "Do you need me to prove your innocence? You can't let the Imperium believe forever that you are nothing more than a murderous wraith, a traitor who attempted to assassinate the Emperor."
"Why not?" Curze's voice was cold, amused.
Dukel hesitated.
Then he understood.
"Dukel, you see it too, don't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Evil men do not repent. The only thing that halts them is fear."
Dukel exhaled, nodding. "I know they will never regret their crimes. What they fear is the punishment that follows. That is why I never trust the tears of the wicked. A righteous man will not commit evil—even in madness."
"Then why should I seek absolution?" Curze's voice was but a whisper in the dark. "I am not like you. I do not need fire. I do not need warmth. Let them fear me. Let all who sin know that a specter walks beneath the Emperor's throne."
His eyes gleamed with a mad fervor as he spoke his judgment. "I care nothing for my reputation. On the contrary, I want my name to be synonymous with terror. Those who dare to sin in darkness will find their flesh flayed and their bones displayed as warnings."
Dukel narrowed his eyes.
Even after ten millennia, Curze remained unchanged.
Justice, in its essence, was noble. But Curze's version of it was madness.
He recalled a grim tale—of how, during one of Curze's operations, he had encountered a young girl attempting to take her own life. The Primarch had intervened, saving her.
Then, as punishment for her 'sin,' he had personally stripped the flesh from her bones, prolonging her suffering for three days before death claimed her.
To Curze, even suicide was unforgivable.
Dukel met his brother's gaze. "Fear is a tool, Koz. It is powerful, but it is not infallible. If you rely on it too much, one day it will turn against you."
"Only those who have walked in darkness can truly understand order."
Dukel sighed. Persuasion was futile. No Primarch could be swayed by mere words.
But he silently resolved that once this matter was settled, Curze would be returned to the Golden Throne's custody—never to roam free again.
Feigning agreement, he looked at his brother. "Koz, let me be the executioner. For the Imperium. For our ideals. I will walk through hell so you don't have to."
Curze blinked.
He studied Dukel as though seeing him for the first time.
Among the Primarchs, Curze had always been the outcast. A specter. A monster. None had ever embraced his ideology, nor sought to stand alongside him.
After a long silence, he spoke.
"Dukel, are you acting? No wonder Fulgrim always called you a hypocrite."
"Tsk—"
Dukel's composed expression cracked, irritation surfacing.
Curze, smirking, melted into the shadows, his laughter echoing in the void.
Dukel exhaled, suppressing his frustration.
A ghostly voice, whispering from the darkness, asked, "What is your next move?"
"Summon Lev Tillon to my palace," Dukel replied. "I wish to speak with him—alone."
As the shadows withdrew, a rustling breeze stirred the leaves of Caliban.
From the depths of the forest, the Lion emerged.
Lion El'Jonson's golden eyes met Dukel's unwelcoming gaze. The Primarch of the Dark Angels raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Brother," he said, "don't blame me. I arrived just in time to see you performing."
Dukel scoffed. "The act wasn't for you. It was for a ghost."
"Are you here to hone your martial prowess with me?" Dukel asked, his tone even.
"No, no, I have more pressing matters to attend to."
Dukel folded his arms and regarded him with a sideways glance. "Then speak."
"Guilliman is heading to Mars. I suspect he may be in danger. Are you interested in accompanying him?"
"Why?" Dukel's tone did not change.
"He needs to justify the Primaris Marines to the Adeptus Mechanicus, and—" the Lion lowered his voice, revealing a deeper concern, "Cawl seeks to claim the title of Fabricator-General."
"You even know this?" Dukel looked at him, mildly surprised.
The Lion merely nodded. Dukel, however, had his own reasons to be intrigued. "I do have an interest in Mars," he admitted under his breath. Specifically, the slumbering Star God fragments buried beneath its surface.
The technology of the life-magnetic field had stagnated at 250,000 horsepower. To surpass this bottleneck, he required those shards of the Void Dragon.
Of course, simply taking them would drive the Mechanicum into a frenzy.
The Lion said nothing further, merely stepping into the shadowed forests of Caliban.
"Farewell, my brother—the ever-enthusiastic performer for ghosts."
A petty jab. The Lion had never forgotten how Dukel had bested him in combat, and now he seized a rare opportunity for retribution. His departure carried a note of satisfaction.
Dukel, however, watched him go, his expression darkening.
They act so boldly now, he mused. Soon, they will reap what they have sown.
Those who are worthy of Warmaster are not men of generosity.
Lev Tillon, the Lord of the Supreme Council, made his way to the palace of the Second Primarch.
It was the dreaded specter himself who had extended the invitation. Though, in truth, 'invitation' was a generous term. Lev had been given two options: meet the Second Primarch in person, or be flayed alive.
He had chosen wisely.
Soon, he stood before the vast, shadowed hall. There, seated upon the throne, was Dukel.
Lev offered a respectful bow before speaking. "Your Highness, I have never abused the authority granted to me by the Emperor. Please, do not make things difficult for me."
Both knew precisely what the other was thinking. There was no need for pretense.
Sincerity—an eternal weapon.
Dukel smiled, as if amused. "Lev, have you heard the latest whispers on Terra? They say I conspire with murderous ghosts. That I abuse my authority under the pretense of investigation. That I slander my enemies, branding them as traitors, as conspirators in the Emperor's assassination. That I execute them on the spot."
Lev stiffened. He shook his head with fervent seriousness. "Your Highness, rumors perish in the presence of wisdom. Though I am no wise man, I know this much: you uphold justice. You would never conspire with the one who slew the Emperor."
Dukel chuckled. "No, Lev. You are mistaken."
The Supreme Council President's expression froze.
"Rumors?" Dukel said, leaning forward. "The rumors are truth. I did precisely as they say."
Cold sweat formed at Lev's brow.
Dukel retrieved a secret letter, producing a sheet of pristine white parchment.
"Lev, tell me—does the Supreme Council understand its place? If not, I will inscribe their names upon this letter. And with that, destruction will come."
Dukel watched as Lev's composure faltered.
"I'll give you a minute to consider. Think carefully."
Lev's heart pounded in his chest.
To stand atop the political hierarchy of Terra, one required wisdom. Experience told him that while Dukel was a terrifying presence, he was ultimately a man of virtue.
And yet…
"Your Highness… is this a test?" Lev exhaled, steeling himself. "I know you have grander ambitions than most. That you strive for the good of the Imperium and its people. I also know you would never move against the innocent."
Dukel sighed and turned to the nun standing beside him.
"Efilar, am I truly so poor at playing the villain?"
The nun responded with rational detachment. "Your Highness, your kindness eclipses the light of the stars. No one can ignore it."
Dukel gave a nod of agreement.
Then Efilar addressed Lev directly. "Lord Lev, listen well. His Highness is not joking."
"This is impossible," Lev murmured. He could not reconcile his perception of Dukel with the man before him.
"All who perish tonight deserved their fate," Dukel said simply. "I trust in justice."
Knuckles rapped against the armrest of the throne. "One minute is up."
Dukel's voice carried a weight that filled the vast hall.
"Has the Supreme Council made its choice? Will you serve the Imperium as its loyal informant, or will you accept your role as the true murderer of the Emperor?"
The Primarch lifted a chainsword from beside his throne.
It dripped with ichor, humming with unholy delight.
In his left hand, a weapon of ruin. In his right, the death-warrant of the Supreme Council.
The image of destruction incarnate.
Lev's expression finally shifted. "Your Highness… is this truly necessary?"
"That is not the correct answer," Dukel murmured, shaking his head. "Lev, I regret to inform you that you, too, have been revealed as the Emperor's assassin."
Dukel picked up his pen, poised to write.
Then he paused, as if struck by an idea.
"Oh, Lev—come and press your fingerprint here. It will lend credibility to the letter."
Lev: "..."
You write my name upon the death list and expect me to sign it?
With a heavy thud, Lev fell to one knee before the throne.
"I pledge myself to your cause," he declared. "I will be the hound at your feet, hunting down all evildoers."
Dukel quickly rose from his seat.
"Why must you be so formal? We are but servants of the Imperium. How could I ever ask you to be a mere hound?"
With that, the Primarch reached down and lifted up his loyal Grand Master of the High Council.