Dukel's efficiency was unparalleled. From the moment he was assigned to investigate the fire at the Paul family estate, he had been aware of its significance. Yet, by the time he arrived, the Inquisition itself was already ablaze.
The Imperial Fists were Terra's unyielding bastion, the strongest iron wall guarding the Throneworld. They embodied the unwavering perseverance and loyalty of their Primarch, Rogal Dorn. Among the twenty original Legions, they were the only ones willing to obey Imperial authority without question.
"My Lords, Milo, Son of Dorn, reporting for duty." The Imperial Fists' think tank saluted with precision, standing before three Primarchs before turning his gaze to Dukel.
"Your Highness, regarding the Paul family fire, we have identified several anomalies that require clarification. The residual traces of psychic energy within the flames closely match your fire-based psychic signature."
Milo presented a report, meticulously verifying his findings with the Primarchs.
Dukel glanced at the report with mild amusement. "It's natural to have doubts. I set the fire."
Milo blinked.
Dukel's admission was blunt. There was no attempt at deception or deflection. He had burned the Paul estate down and had no intention of hiding it.
But had the Paul family not already confessed? Their patriarch, Weiss, had admitted his guilt, claiming responsibility for the blaze.
Faced with such a situation, wouldn't a rational person simply submit a report, accept the official verdict, and move on? What more proof was necessary?
Ah, of course—these were the Imperial Fists.
No wonder.
Dukel's bemusement faded, replaced by understanding.
Ten thousand years ago, Dorn had been infamous for his rigidity. He despised deceit, loathed compromise, and was so obstinate that even the Emperor himself had found conversing with him exhausting.
His sons had inherited that same stubbornness.
Dukel was satisfied.
Milo, however, was not.
His Highness had confessed so easily? Without even attempting a defense?
Before Milo could process this, a Sister of Silence arrived, bearing new intelligence—a secret letter discovered in the Inquisition's vaults.
The Lion, Guilliman, and the Captain-General of the Custodes turned their eyes to Milo.
The Imperial Fists bore the solemn duty of securing the Emperor's safety. The assassination attempt on the Master of Mankind had left them in a state of perpetual guilt, driving them to uncover the true culprits. They had previously determined that the Inquisition was not directly responsible.
The three Primarchs knew this letter was fabricated.
Now, they waited to see how Milo would react.
They were not disappointed.
Milo's composure cracked as visible shock played across his features. Without hesitation, he summoned the operatives the Imperial Fists had embedded within the Inquisition.
"Explain this letter. When did the Grand Master of the Inquisition contact the assassin?"
The two agents exchanged glances before slowly shaking their heads.
"My Lord, we detected nothing of the sort."
"Additionally," one added hesitantly, "we witnessed the safe being brought in by the Sisters of Silence."
The room fell into a profound silence.
Even Dukel turned to glare at Efilal behind him.
Milo's eye twitched. "Your Highness is certainly... direct."
As an Imperial Fists strategist, Milo trusted his agents implicitly. The notion that Dukel would frame someone so blatantly, in full view of witnesses, was the height of audacity.
Even the most arrogant members of the Inquisition exercised some discretion when orchestrating a setup.
But Dukel? He didn't even try to be subtle.
And now, with the Inquisition already in flames, what did it matter?
Milo remained silent for a long time. Finally, he turned to the Lion and Guilliman, his meaning clear—
Are we really going to let this stand?
Guilliman exhaled sharply and stepped forward. "We will go together and uncover just how deep the Inquisition's sins truly run."
Guided by the Sisters, they proceeded toward the vaults. Before they arrived, another report came through.
"Your Highness, we have found an Imperial Fist."
Milo stiffened. Even with all his experience, he struggled to grasp what was meant by "found an Imperial Fist."
He quickened his pace, rounding the corner to the scene—only to stop short, his massive frame trembling with rage.
Because they truly had found an Imperial Fist.
A headless corpse, preserved like a grotesque specimen within the Inquisition's secret chambers. The body was clad in relic-grade power armor, adorned with the original heraldry of the Imperial Fists. The warrior's tattered cloak bore the emblem of the Brothers of the Sword.
Milo stared in silent fury at his fallen battle-brother. The armor was ancient, dating back ten millennia, not outdated but revered—a testament to the courage of the one who had worn it.
Who was this warrior?
And who had taken his head?
"Your Highness, we retrieved this file from the Inquisition's hidden archives. It contains records on this Astartes."
A Sister of Silence presented the file, referring to the fallen as a "warrior"—a sign of deep respect.
The sisters knew Dukel well. Though they followed a Primarch with a penchant for destruction, they also recognized the nuances of his nature.
Milo met Dukel's gaze, then looked to the file in the Sister's hands.
Dukel spoke first. "Lend this file to the Son of Dorn. He is far more interested in its contents than I am."
Milo accepted the file with reverence, offering Dukel the Aquila Salute once more.
Dukel made no reply, simply passing him the file.
Milo opened it and read.
The Celestial Lions were a successor Chapter of the Imperial Fists, founded in M38. They had fought with honor, but their defiance of the Inquisition had sealed their fate. During the Hattar Rebellion, they had been manipulated into a campaign against a world fallen to Slaanesh. Though victorious, the world was subject to an Exterminatus—issued by the very Inquisitor they had served.
The Celestial Lions condemned the decision, their leaders traveling to Terra to protest.
A freak Warp storm obliterated their vessel.
During the Third War for Armageddon, the Celestial Lions suffered grievous losses. Their intelligence was flawed, their resupplies sabotaged. Assassins struck their officers. By war's end, barely ninety Astartes survived.
As the Great Rift split reality, their Chapter Master, Dubaku, fought to evacuate their homeworld's civilians. He was executed by the Officio Assassinorum.
At the bottom of the file, the Inquisition's internal notes were inscribed:
1. Utilize Warp anomalies to eliminate high-ranking officers.
2. Provide false intelligence in critical battles. Confiscate weaponry under bureaucratic pretenses. Deploy snipers where necessary.
3. Strike at vulnerable moments. Decapitate leadership to ensure total dissolution.
The final line read:
"All for the supremacy of the Holy Emperor and the Inquisition. May His Eternal Majesty watch over us."
At the very bottom, an encrypted sigil verified the file's authenticity.
Milo trembled. His fists clenched with barely restrained fury.
Nearby, the quiet murmur of Dukel and a young Sister reached his ears.
"My Lord, I do not understand," she whispered. "Why are even the noble Astartes unable to escape persecution at the hands of the powerful?"
After careful consideration, Dukel responded, "Because of the Codex Astartes. Admittedly, its existence mitigated the destructiveness of the Astartes' rebellion, but in doing so, it fragmented the Legions into smaller Chapters of less than a thousand warriors. This division made them vulnerable against the true power brokers of the Imperium."
"Conservative estimates suggest that at least a third of the Astartes within the Imperium have perished due to political persecution. Under such coercion, even the most loyal Space Marines have been driven into the arms of Chaos when left with no other options."
"But they are the Emperor's Angels!" the Sister exclaimed.
"Indeed, they are His Angels. In the Imperium, even the Astra Militarum are considered heroes by the masses. The Astartes, however, are seen as demigods, walking the battlefield in His name. They are the mightiest protectors of Humanity. If even demigods suffer under the weight of power, imagine how fragile the existence of ordinary mortals must be."
Milo's hands trembled as he listened.
The conversation between the Primarch and the Sister continued—
"But, Your Highness, why did you only mention the fragmented successors? Would the newly founded Chapters not also face persecution?"
"Of course, they would. But consider this: the Dark Angels have already drawn the Inquisition's ire due to their... secrets. The Space Wolves will openly defy them to protect civilians, even throwing Inquisitors into pigsties if necessary. If the Blood Angels are provoked, it's not uncommon for them to indulge in... more visceral retribution. The Ultramarines govern over five hundred worlds—none dare challenge them."
Dukel listed the twenty founding Legions one by one before pausing.
"But what of the Imperial Fists?" the Sister asked. "They, too, are a founding Legion."
"They are an exception," Dukel replied. "The only one of the original Legions ever forced into submission by the powers that be."
"Is it because they are weaker?"
"No. Dorn's sons are anything but weak."
"Then why?"
"Because they are good men, child."
"I don't understand. Should good men be the ones at gunpoint?"
"Precisely."
The Sister hesitated before whispering, "Then I will not be a good person."
Dukel chuckled, ruffling her hair.
Their voices were hushed, but in the confined room, no conversation could escape the enhanced hearing of an Astartes.
Milo, the Imperial Fists' strategist, clenched his jaw so tightly he could hear the enamel strain under the pressure. His teeth, strong enough to chew through steel, threatened to crack.
Then—
Bang!
The data-slate in his hand shattered against the floor.
Milo was furious.
As a son of Dorn, he had always carried himself with composure. Even when witnessing Dukel's arrogance, he had remained as calm as a still lake.
But now, that lake had been shattered.
"The Inquisition!" he roared, his voice a snarl of restrained fury. The ancient rage buried within the gene-seed of Rogal Dorn threatened to rise to the surface.
The Regent observed him and spoke. "The Inquisition is no more. Their Grand Master is dead. Son of Dorn, calm yourself. Do not waste your wrath on the dead."
"I—"
Milo trembled, unable to suppress his seething anger.
"Then I will aid His Highness Dukel. I will uncover the Inquisition's collusion with the assassin."
When it came to confiscations, the Imperial Fists—masters of fortification and logistics—were more thorough than even the Militarum enforcers accompanying Lord Commander Waldo.
Seeing Milo's conviction, Lion El'Jonson and Roboute Guilliman exchanged knowing glances. The Inquisition had sealed its fate. Over ten millennia, their sins had compounded. They had made too many enemies, wielded too much unchecked power.
And now, they had crossed the sons of Dorn.
The discoveries made within the Inquisition's vaults were staggering.
The organization had three primary Ordos: Malleus, Hereticus, and Xenos.
Within the halls of the Ordo Xenos, over two hundred alien species were cataloged—not as prisoners, but as allies. The Inquisitors had engaged in extensive dealings with xenos, adopted their technology without restraint, and even engaged in... more perverse relationships with them.
The Sisters found a tin of xenos pollen—a narcotic—on the corpse of an Inquisitor. Hereticus and Malleus proved even more damning, their archives littered with blasphemous artifacts. Some were deemed too dangerous to exist and were promptly incinerated.
A simple truth emerged:
Heretics breed heresy. Daemon-hunters become daemons.
Their records detailed centuries of corruption, countless crimes buried beneath bureaucratic authority. Once, the Inquisition had been founded to protect the Imperium. Now, they were no longer hunters in the shadows but parasites, wielding their power to silence rivals rather than combat true threats.
Today, forty percent of their resources were dedicated to internal power struggles, another forty percent to suppressing political adversaries, and a mere twenty percent to their supposed duties. In the process, they enacted planetary purges without just cause, reveling in their unchecked dominion.
Even the lowest-ranking Inquisitor could sign an Exterminatus order, condemning an entire world in an instant. And they reveled in that power.
Dukel sneered. "I knew killing him was the right decision."
He turned to Waldo. "From now on, the Adeptus Custodes will temporarily assume the duties of the Inquisition. Can you manage that?"
The Lord Commander hesitated. "Your Highness, the Custodes are still needed to safeguard the Imperial Palace."
Dukel fixed him with a predatory smile. "Valdor, you wound me. You know I am the most reasonable of men—I would never impose my will upon others."
The Custodes bowed his head. "I will assign up to eight thousand Custodians, Your Highness. The remainder must remain within the Palace to maintain order and safeguard the Golden Throne."
Dukel nodded approvingly. It was a known fact that the Custodes had done little beyond standing guard for ten thousand years. Apart from their eternal vigil, their greatest pastime had been staging mock battles among themselves.
If the Emperor could speak, He would have likely ordered them to leave the Throne Room already.
It was time for them to serve the Imperium once more.
Milo stepped forward. "Your Highness, I must remind you—the Inquisition often collaborated with both the Departmento Munitorum and the Adeptus Arbites. If they were involved in an assassination attempt against the Emperor, those two institutions would not be beyond suspicion."
Dukel narrowed his gaze. "You suspect the Munitorum and Arbites played a hand in this?"
Milo remained composed. "Your Highness, I do not make baseless accusations. But the documents recovered from the Inquisition's vaults include a sealed missive."
Dukel turned the letter over in his hand, smirking. "A sealed letter is a Schrödinger's secret. Until we open it, it holds infinite possibilities."
He turned to his warriors.
"Come. Let us meet the next murderer."