Power is born from violence. The Primarchs, as the apex of martial might within the Imperium, should wield the highest authority. Yet the nobles of Terra fail to grasp this truth—or perhaps they do, but refuse to relinquish their stranglehold on power. They could have chosen a dignified retreat upon the Primarchs' return, but their greed bound them to their thrones.
With the might of Dukel and his Expeditionary Corps, he could have shattered these parasites infested by corruption. But power alone cannot command loyalty—it can subjugate the body, but not the will. If he ruled solely through force, the Imperium would obey in form, yet defy him in spirit.
This was why the Lion and Guilliman had refrained from outright confrontation with the High Lords upon their return.
But Dukel was generous. Since these so-called rulers refused to step down with dignity, he would grant them a stage to fall with honor. He orchestrated this grand spectacle, ensuring that all they had to do was sacrifice their insignificant lives.
Such selflessness.
Dukel almost felt like a saint.
"The Holy Throne shall never permit darkness to fester! I swear to unmask you and the true architects of this treachery. For His Majesty, for the Imperium, for every innocent soul you have defiled!" Dukel's roar echoed through the corridors, his form wreathed in flames as he pursued the shadow before him. His presence burned like a sun blazing across the heavens.
Through the sheer radiance of his psychic might, nearly all of Terra bore witness to this spectacle of justice in motion.
Millions watched with bated breath, tears welling in their eyes. To them, Dukel was a saint incarnate.
A warrior who shouldered the most perilous burdens. A guardian who, from the moment he set foot on Terra, had not once paused to rest. Even after sustaining grievous wounds, he pressed on, unwavering in his hunt for the enemy.
For the Emperor. For the Imperium. For every loyal citizen.
The Second Primarch stood as the beacon of justice, hunting the wicked, forsaking his own safety. If this was not the mark of a saint, then what was?
Even the wretched scavengers skulking through the depths of Terra's hives dared to stand taller, their frail bodies straightened with pride.
Look upon him. Even when all deem you worthless, a demigod yet fights for you. Not because of wealth, nor status—but because you are his people.
Even the nobles and High Lords found themselves caught in his grand illusion, scrambling to uncover the so-called "hidden organization." Their own self-interest demanded that such a force could not be allowed to exist unchecked within the heart of the Imperium.
For the Imperium!
Even the Inquisition was not immune.
Yet the Grand Master of the Inquisition felt only regret.
"A pity," he mused. "Had the assassin wounded Dukel more grievously, it would have been a momentous event. The Inquisition could have leveraged it to enact a sweeping purge across Terra. We could have driven the Imperium toward true order, reinforcing the sanctity bestowed upon us by His Majesty."
"Grand Master, please be cautious with your words," one of his aides urged.
The Grand Master waved dismissively. "There is no need for pretense. No one can indict me for mere words. The Administratum's arbitrators have been infiltrating the Tribunal for weeks—they know well that I am beyond reproach. As long as it does not pertain to the Emperor's assassination, no one can touch me."
His confidence was absolute.
For ten millennia, in the absence of the Emperor and the Primarchs, the Inquisition had been the ultimate authority, judge and executioner in one. Even a low-ranking Inquisitor held the power to order Exterminatus upon a world, condemning billions to oblivion without hesitation.
And yet...
"Still, this so-called assassin intrigues me. To rival a Primarch in battle—what force could possibly produce such an operative?"
"Master, there's a ghost!"
The servant's shriek shattered the moment. The Grand Master turned swiftly, eyes locking onto a pale figure emerging from the shadows.
Instinct drove him—his hand shot to his sidearm, but in the blink of an eye, the specter was upon him.
"Why was there no mention of the Emperor's Sword in your intelligence?!" the ghost's voice rang out, filled with venomous wrath.
"You withheld it on purpose, didn't you?" The voice grew darker, more certain. "You planned this. You sought to use Dukel's blade to silence me!"
A mirthless laugh echoed through the chamber, and in a swirl of darkness, the figure vanished once more.
But his accusations did not fade.
His words carried across the city, reaching every ear that cared to listen.
The Grand Master stood paralyzed, his body trembling, fingers clenched around the hilt of his laspistol. The chamber was steeped in suffocating silence, his subordinates equally stricken with bewilderment.
They had been vigilant, monitoring all channels—there had been no communication between the Grand Master and this assassin. Could he have found some hidden means of contact? What was the truth?
There was little time to dwell.
From the dissipating shadows, fire blazed anew. A brilliant, golden light descended upon the chamber.
Dukel stepped forth, flames roaring around him, the very stone trembling beneath his wrath.
A demigod's fury.
"Well, well, Grand Master," Dukel intoned, his voice carrying the weight of thunder. "I never questioned your loyalty before, but today you have opened my eyes. First you plotted against the Emperor, now against a Primarch? Truly, a most 'faithful' servant of the Imperium. I daresay none have been as 'loyal' as you in ten thousand years."
The Grand Master's skin crawled, his voice rising in panic. "It wasn't me! I have never contacted that assassin!"
"I heard your exchange myself. And now, caught in the open, you still think to lie?"
Dukel raised his blade high. The golden flames of the Imperium surged, searing the very air. The Grand Master felt the fire claw at his soul.
"This is slander! Dukel, you cannot do this!" the Grand Master pleaded.
The confrontation had already drawn too much attention. When the golden blaze rose, more figures emerged from the darkness.
"Dukel, there may be another truth here."
"Calm yourself. Let us ensure the true culprit is unmasked."
The leaves of Caliban fell. The Lion and Guilliman strode forward, their expressions unreadable.
Even they found themselves unsettled by Dukel's audacity. They had considered moving against the Inquisition—but this? This was not how they had envisioned it. Less than an hour after landing, Dukel had already drawn his sword against the Inquisition's Grand Master.
"Your Highnesses," an Arbitrator Captain interjected hastily, "please entrust this matter to the Judiciary. We will uncover the truth within a week—no, within two days."
The Emperor's assassination. A Primarch's attempted murder. The Grand Master of the Inquisition implicated.
The Arbitrator had never feared for the Imperium's legal order more than he did now.
"Your Highness Dukel," a High Lord added deferentially, "the Speaker of the Council has summoned the finest medicae in the Segmentum to tend to your wounds. Please, put your safety first before pressing forward."
The Grand Master exhaled, steadying himself, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. Straightening his robes, he found his composure once more.
"Your accusations are baseless, your claims mere hearsay. The law of the Imperium will judge fairly. I submit myself to investigation, for justice shall prevail."
Dukel's expression darkened, his voice laden with blood and steel.
"You think this is still an investigation? The Imperium has its laws—but clearly, some have no respect for me."
Without waiting for the others to respond, his voice, cold and sharp as a blade, rang out once more:
"An attempt on His Majesty's life? An assassination against the Primarch? This is no mere crime—it is an assault upon the Imperium itself. A rebellion of the highest order! By Imperial law, the investigation of a crime demands evidence. Counter-terrorism requires names. But to crush a rebellion? One only needs coordinates."
Dukel fixed the Grand Master of the Inquisition with a heavy gaze. "And unfortunately, this place is the most suspect coordinate of all. Everything here must be purged."
The Grand Master's eyes were bloodshot, his teeth clenched in defiance. "I am the Supreme Grand Master of the Inquisition! Only His Majesty himself holds the authority to judge me! I have purged heretics, exterminated xenos, and upheld the Imperium's stability. No man has the right to condemn me based on mere accusations! If you intend to raze this stronghold, then you will have to kill me first! Let—"
Schlick!
Dukel's blade rose and fell in a single stroke.
He had fought across the stars, stood against the horrors of the Immaterium, and waged war against gods themselves. And yet, he had never before heard such a reasonable request.
How could he refuse?
The Supreme Grand Master of the Inquisition, wielder of near-unlimited power, died just like that.
His death was not peaceful. Blood erupted in a crimson arc, his severed head rolling across the cold stone floor, eyes wide with frozen disbelief.
A suffocating silence fell upon the chamber. The only sound was the rapid, hammering heartbeats of those present.
Dukel's voice sliced through the air like a scalpel, his words seeping into the marrow of those who listened.
"Gentlemen, the true architects of this treachery lurk within the shadows, seeking to unmake the Imperium. Let me make this clear—this is not merely an assassination attempt. It is an uprising!"
He was an expert investigator, but he also knew a thing or two about quelling insurrections.
Around him, the gathered figures remained frozen in shock. Even the Lion and Guilliman, war-forged and battle-hardened, could not mask their disbelief.
Dukel shook his head. "It seems Terra has grown too complacent. Too much time spent in comfort has made you forget the savagery of rebellion. No matter—today, I take up His Majesty's sword and declare war upon the darkness. By the Holy Emperor's will, I shall purge this filth from the Imperium, no matter the cost!"
Raising his sword high, golden flames erupted from its blade, illuminating the chamber in searing radiance.
The heat of the sacred fire snapped Guilliman from his daze, though his mind still reeled.
"Dukel… was the Grand Master truly guilty? Or was this… another display of your abilities?" he asked, clinging to the hope that this had all been an illusion.
He knew Dukel well—knew his power, knew that he could weave deception so seamlessly that reality itself bent to his will.
But the response he received shattered that final hope.
Dukel kicked the Grand Master's severed head aside with a casual flick of his boot, eyes glinting with amusement. "Didn't you hear him? It was his dying wish! The Grand Master sought to prove his innocence, and I, as a loyal son of the Emperor, merely granted his request. How considerate of me."
Dukel turned to Guilliman and the Lion, his gaze unwavering. "My brothers, you know me well. I would never deny such a heartfelt request."
He wasn't being arrogant—merely honest.
Since arriving in this world, he had never hesitated to speak. Why, then, would he hesitate to act?
He had cut down traitors and false gods alike. He had waged war from the farthest reaches of the galaxy to the very heart of the Immaterium itself. There was no blade he feared, no enemy he would not strike down.
The Supreme Grand Master of the Inquisition? What of it?
Compared to Khorne? Compared to Nurgle? Compared to the Emperor himself?
Dukel had only ever encountered foes he couldn't kill.
Never foes he wouldn't kill.
Was he to be shaken by the request of a mere mortal?
Guilliman exhaled sharply, brows furrowed. "We understand you, but the Grand Master did not. He wasn't challenging you, Dukel."
"Didn't understand? Then is the Inquisition's intelligence so lacking?" Dukel scoffed.
"Mortals have no way of knowing what you have done," the Lion interjected.
Dukel nodded as if realizing something obvious.
Of course. They were too lowly to comprehend.
How could they know he had fought Khorne for eight days and nights? Or that he had burned Nurgle's Garden for twenty-two days straight?
A voice, trembling, interrupted his thoughts. "Your Highness Dukel, did you… did you truly kill the Grand Master?"
The High Lord of the Supreme Council looked upon him, his expression a storm of horror and disbelief.
"Your Highness," he continued, voice quivering, "you should know the power of the Inquisition. The death of the Grand Master will shake the Imperium to its core! Even if he were guilty, he should have been tried by the Adeptus Arbites, not executed without trial! You swore that your duty was to uncover the truth, not to dispense summary judgment."
Dukel sighed, shaking his head. "High Lord, mind your words. You speak as if I am merely an investigator."
Guilliman and the Lion remained silent.
They knew better.
They had left the throne room together. They had seen the truth with their own eyes. The Grand Master's guilt or innocence was irrelevant.
The real question was: Did it matter?
Dukel was not merely seeking justice.
This was a purge. A cleansing of the Imperium's rotting elite. A revolution carved with a blade instead of a quill.
They had expected Dukel to move carefully, to erode the corruption from the ground up.
Instead, he had landed on Terra and, within the hour, struck down the Empire's second-in-command.
The High Lord trembled. "Your Highness, we have irrefutable evidence that the Grand Master was not involved in the Emperor's assassination! This is an outrageous miscarriage of justice!"
Dukel's gaze locked onto him. There was no anger—only a flicker of curiosity.
"Oh? You are certain of his innocence? Interesting. Could it be… that you are the true culprit, and thus know for a fact that he is blameless?"
Cold sweat trickled down the High Lord's forehead. "N-no, Your Highness, I merely misspoke—"
Dukel smirked. "Ah, so you admit you don't know."
"I… I am not certain."
Dukel nodded approvingly and turned to the captain of his Arcani task force. "Charles, write this down: The High Lord of the Supreme Council has named the Grand Master of the Inquisition as the Emperor's assassin. He has pledged his loyalty to the Imperium, and as the Emperor's son, I must not betray the trust of our people."
Dukel then turned to Valdo, the commander of the Adeptus Custodes. "Summon the Custodes. The Inquisition's headquarters is to be sealed immediately. All Inquisitors on Terra are suspected of conspiracy. Exterminate them all. The High Lords will bear the consequences."
With a strangled gasp, the High Lord collapsed to his knees upon Terra's sacred soil.
But Dukel had already turned away. Crimson flames of judgment surged outward, engulfing the fortress of the Inquisition.
The High Lords' report would yield results. Dukel would ensure that something damning was uncovered within the halls of the Inquisition.
And as for the High Lords themselves? If, in the coming days, they found themselves accosted by enraged mobs, well… that was hardly Dukel's concern.
That would simply be the work of vengeful remnants of the Inquisition.
Certainly, it would have nothing to do with the Son of the Emperor.
At that moment, Charles, who had been writing the report, paused. He muttered under his breath, "I just remembered something…"
"What is it?" Valdo inquired.
"That 'Murderous Ghost'... I've seen him before. On Macragge. There's a statue of a Primarch there with his face shrouded. He looks exactly like the Murderous Ghost."
A sharp twitch ran through Valdo's expression beneath his helmet. He immediately regretted asking.
Bang!
Guilliman moved in a blur, his Primarch reflexes activating in an instant. He materialized behind Charles and struck him with precision, rendering him unconscious.
Lifting the Arcani captain with ease, he handed him over to an Ultramarine standing nearby. "Take him back to Macragge. And ensure he never returns to Terra."
Guilliman respected Charles' intellect and sense of duty. But what he had just uttered was no longer merely bold—it was suicidal.
The Regent of Terra understood well: this was only the beginning of the storm that had engulfed the Throneworld.
And if Dukel became Warmaster…
"For the sake of our shared vision," Guilliman murmured to himself.
Surveying the chaos unfurling around them, he knew that this upheaval had been inevitable.
"Perhaps," the Lion mused in a low voice, "Dukel's methods are more effective than we anticipated."
Guilliman nodded. "A festering wound must be cauterized. At the very least, Dukel has administered an anesthetic before wielding the knife. Most of the nobility are still too dazed to resist."
The Emperor had risen. The Supreme Warmaster's inauguration was imminent. The Primarchs were returning. The Imperium's reformation was underway.
There would be no tolerance for divided loyalties.
One hour after setting foot on Terra, Dukel had begun the operation. Now, the cure had begun.
At that moment, Shivara approached, flanked by a detachment of Adepta Sororitas. "Your Highness, we uncovered a hidden communiqué within the Inquisition's vaults. It details correspondence with the assassin."