The Second Legion prided itself on reason. This was the core principle Dukel had established when he first shaped his Legion, and time had proven that reason could indeed prevail in the grim reality of the Imperium.
Not only had his arguments swayed the great magos present, but even Gris—a scholar of great renown—found himself trembling at the implications.
"The wisdom of a great heart and mind can always pierce deception, unveiling the heresy of the Fabrication General and the true positions of the Chief Magos and the Ruler Magos. Since neither of them can participate in the election, I, though lacking in stature, must reluctantly take on the burden of Mars' governance. I only hope that Lord Dukel will guide me should I falter, so that the Imperium and the Mechanicus may stand united in restoring humanity's lost glory."
Gris exhaled slowly, concealing his apprehension. He had nearly addressed Dukel by his true title—Lord of the Mind—risking the exposure of the Mind Web's existence.
The sheer force of Dukel's logic had left this scholar reeling. To stand before a Primarch, one proclaiming truth with such certainty, made it almost impossible not to submit.
Fortunately, his slip went unnoticed. The great magos remained engrossed in Dukel's revelation, struggling to process its weight.
Displaying the measured humility expected of a Primarch, Dukel responded with quiet authority, "My friend, I cannot accept such a role. As a son of the Emperor, I am to assume the mantle of Supreme Warmaster within a week. The Martian Covenant, forged by my father ten thousand years ago, forbids me from interfering in the internal affairs of the Mechanicus."
A series of binary expletives flickered through the minds of the assembled magos.
Was this not interference?
Had the God-Emperor Himself ordained such bold deceit?
"Gris, your leadership is needed to stabilize Mars. The great magos have also played their part and must be rewarded accordingly. We cannot afford to let justice be denied to the loyal."
Dukel had just proclaimed his non-involvement, yet now he dictated terms with supreme confidence. Gris, recognizing the unspoken command, nodded in agreement. "Your wisdom, my lord, is invaluable."
"You have my gratitude, old friend. Now, there are matters that require resolution. The Fabrication General took his own life in terror after we exposed his descent into darkness. His guardian knight, consumed by rage, attempted to assassinate me. These events demand justice—both for the Imperium and the Mechanicus."
Dukel's expression darkened, his voice ringing with steely resolve. "Ten thousand years ago, the Holy Emperor taught us: if they seek our blood, we must take their heads!"
Gris shuddered. Though he had stood beside the Second Primarch for years, Dukel's ability to deliver such pronouncements with absolute conviction was still beyond his comprehension.
This was the man he followed—one who saw no moral boundaries in war, only the necessity of victory at the lowest cost.
The great magos, too, were shaken. Had the Martian Covenant been undone by its own supposed defenders? Had the Emperor's own kin always wielded such audacity?
Even the Regent of the Imperium played his part in this calculated storm.
Guilliman, ever the strategist, chose this moment to interject. "The Chief Magos and the Ruler Magos appearing here is no mere coincidence," he observed, frowning. "Their strongholds are far from this palace, yet they learned of these events with unnatural speed."
A perfectly timed maneuver.
Dukel gave his brother a satisfied glance. Guilliman had grown sharper.
With Primarchs such as these leading the Imperium, its future seemed assured.
"Brother, someone must have passed word to them. If even the Fabrication General was a heretic, then there is undoubtedly more rot within the Mechanicus. We must purge this corruption entirely."
His voice carried the finality of a death sentence.
"Only by wielding the Emperor's sword and striking down every last traitor can Mars be cleansed of Chaos' taint!"
Dukel turned to Gris. "My old friend, the Regent and I, as sons of the Emperor, cannot interfere in Mechanicus affairs. However, heresy is another matter. It is the duty of every Imperial servant to eradicate it. We will see this through to the end."
The gathered magos stiffened.
Dukel's words were not mere rhetoric; they were a sharpened blade poised to strike. No one could ignore the weight of his decree.
Before the slaughter began, before the accusations were formalized, the condemned would already bear the brand of heretic.
No voice would rise in defense of the fallen.
The remains of the Fabrication General, torn asunder, served as a grim reminder. Who among them would dare to claim the innocence of the dead?
"Gris, the security of our loyal magos must also be ensured. Chaos' corruption is insidious, and it may lurk even among them. We have dealt with heresy for centuries; we will not allow such filth to fester under our watch."
Gris hesitated before nodding. The newly appointed Fabrication General bowed his head. "I know well the horror of Chaos. My lords, how may I assist in your purging of these heretics?"
Dukel gave the faintest nod of approval.
Now, Gris had assumed the mantle of Fabrication General.
Next, he would have to purge the Mechanicus of those who opposed his rule.
"Seal the palace. No one enters or leaves from this moment forward," Dukel commanded.
Gris grimaced. "My lord, I share your intent, but my authority is limited. Even as I arrived, I had my loyalists lock down the area, yet the Chief Magos and Ruler Magos still passed through unchallenged."
Dukel narrowed his eyes.
Gris had proven himself a capable figure in the Dark Crusade, rising from common birth to the rank of Great Magos. Yet even now, his grip on the Mechanicus remained tenuous.
The old guard still held too much power.
Had Dukel not removed some and coerced others, Gris would have found his position untenable.
If they were to wage war against Chaos and shatter the grand designs of the Ruinous Powers, the Second Great Crusade required unity.
Without absolute control over Mars, even a Fabrication General was of limited use.
A disobedient Mechanicus could doom an entire crusade. Even a single act of defiance might cost the lives of hundreds of billions of Imperial warriors.
And Dukel would not allow that.
The purge would begin.
All the mechanical constructs essential for the expedition require the support of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Their contributions are vital for the wars to come.
"We will never allow the minions of Chaos to run rampant upon Sacred Mars!"
Dukel first established the broad strategic direction.
Then, it was time to implement specific measures.
"Gris, I propose that the Council of the Magi be convened immediately. Mars must be sealed off, and all senior Magi summoned to attend. The Fabricator General has taken his own life in fear of his crimes, and the Mechanicus is bound to be in turmoil. The Imperial Regent and I will personally oversee this council to stabilize the situation and reinforce our alliance."
Gris nodded. "If you command it, I shall obey."
Regardless of what others thought, Dukel had always been generous and just to those under his rule. Gris, an astute Magos, understood the magnitude of the being he followed. Victory was assured as long as he stood behind his Primarch.
"The situation is dire," Dukel continued. "I expect all Magi to remain steadfast in their duties. Any who are found colluding with heretics will be executed immediately."
The weight of his words fell heavily upon the gathered Magi. The presence of a Primarch alone was imposing, but his naked threat carried the full force of one forged in the crucible of war. None dared to openly defy him. Their political machinations were feeble compared to the iron will and battlefield prowess of a Primarch.
Only a true servant of the Ruinous Powers would oppose him now.
With matters set in motion, Dukel turned his thoughts to the future.
While the Fabricator General was the nominal leader of the Adeptus Mechanicus, another, more enigmatic faction held authority within its ranks.
—The Order of the Dragon Guardians of Mars.
In the 30th Millennium, the Emperor himself had waged war upon Mars. It was during this conflict that he sealed the Dragon of Mars deep beneath the surface, forging an alliance with the Mechanicus in the aftermath.
Rumors spoke of the entity entombed beneath the Red Planet—a fragment of the Star God known as the Void Dragon.
To safeguard this secret, the Emperor appointed an undying Custodian to stand vigil over the crypt for eternity. Thus, the Guardian Order was born.
Dukel held little fear of either the Immortal Custodian or the Dragon of Mars. However, unnecessary conflict with them would serve no purpose.
The Guardian Order would undoubtedly dispatch an investigation team to scrutinize the circumstances surrounding the Fabricator General's fall to Chaos.
How best to manage their arrival was now Dukel's primary concern.
Night fell upon Mars.
Accompanied by Gris, Dukel strode into the grand assembly hall of the Council of the Magi. This chamber, reserved for the most sacred ceremonies and high-ranking diplomatic gatherings, was steeped in solemnity.
By tradition, Gris had chosen this location to host the emergency convocation of the Magi.
As Dukel entered alongside Roboute Guilliman, the gathered Tech-Priests exchanged wary glances. Their confusion was evident.
Why had two Primarchs deigned to appear before them?
Still, protocol dictated respect. One by one, the Magi rose to offer their reverence.
"Hail, Dukel, Lord of the Second Legion, Son of the Emperor."
"Hail, Imperial Regent."
The Primarchs acknowledged the greeting with solemn nods.
Gris took his place at the front and addressed the assembly. "Honored colleagues, we have convened because the sons of the Emperor bring grave tidings. They shall speak now."
Silence fell over the chamber as all eyes turned toward Dukel and Guilliman.
Gris, ever loyal to Dukel, spoke once more. "Lord Dukel, as per our agreement, the Council of the Magi proceeds as planned. Please reveal the truth so that our devoted brethren are not misled by the whispers of heresy."
Dukel inclined his head. "Gris, the Imperium recognizes your service. I ask all gathered here to bear witness. The former Fabricator General, Raskian, succumbed to the lure of Chaos. Exposed by myself and the Regent, he chose to end his own life rather than face judgment."
A wave of shock rippled through the chamber. Conservative Magi gasped in disbelief.
While those in attendance had suspected something amiss with the Fabricator General, few had known the full extent of his corruption.
After all, the Supreme Council controlled the flow of information.
Gris had acted swiftly to suppress rumors, ensuring only the highest-ranking Magi remained informed. Even among them, only the Chief Magos and the ruling Magi possessed the authority to bypass these restrictions.
Now, however, the truth was undeniable.
Some among the conservative faction erupted in protest.
"Impossible!"
"Raskian would never turn to Chaos!"
"My logic circuits reject the premise that the Fabricator General would commit suicide!"
The council chamber descended into an uproar, its din echoing like the chaotic markets of a hive city.
Guilliman had anticipated this reaction. With measured fury, he drew the Emperor's Sword, its golden flames illuminating the hall.
"Silence!" the Regent commanded, his voice cold as the void.
"Under the gaze of the Emperor and the Omnissiah, do you still remember the dignity of the Adeptus Mechanicus?"
The uproar ceased instantly.
With order restored, Dukel pressed on. "Honored Magi, I understand your reluctance to accept this grim reality. But the evidence is irrefutable."
With a motion, he presented the damning proof.
Three artifacts lay before the council:
A Chaos-tainted mechanical core, and two sealed missives—both secret communiqués.
As the gathered Tech-Priests scrutinized the items, Guilliman's expression darkened. Even he could not hide a flicker of discomfort at what was revealed.
Gris, too, remained silent.
But silence was not universal.
"This is absurd!" The Chief Magos struck the table with a mechanical limb, servos whining under the sudden stress.
Though his body was failing, he had insisted on attending this convocation—brought here on Dukel's orders through Gris's direct summons.
For better or worse, the truth would not be denied.
Then the Chief Magos saw the so-called 'evidence'—and it filled him with fury.
"Dukel, how dare you! Do you truly believe no one would challenge your audacity?" His body trembled violently, arcs of energy crackling from within his cybernetic frame.
"These two encrypted missives were sent by Terran nobles conspiring with the Murderous Ghost. Is this the basis of your claim that the Fabrication General is a traitor? Do you mean to suggest that the Fabrication General orchestrated the Emperor's attempted assassination?"
Yes, Dukel had not bothered to fabricate new evidence.
Anticipating that a mere mechanical core might not be convincing enough, he had simply presented intercepted communications involving the Murderous Ghost.
His focus was efficiency—preserving resources while dismantling opposition with minimal effort.
That was precisely why the Chief Magos's rage burned even hotter.
If Dukel had relied solely on the mechanical core, he might have found a means to counter the accusations, a path to vindication for the Fabrication General. He had already devised contingencies, counterarguments prepared in advance. But he had not expected Dukel's strategy to be so ruthlessly straightforward, accusation after accusation laid out with brutal indifference.
And worse—this Primarch had not even bothered to properly forge evidence against him!
Was there no justice? No law?
"Yes, the Chief Magos possesses a keen eye indeed," Dukel said, nodding. "At a glance, he perceives the connection—Raskian conspired with the Murderous Ghost to assassinate the Emperor and, by his own testimony, has revealed that the Fabrication General was the true mastermind."
Dukel turned to the gathered officials, his expression solemn. "Praise the Emperor. Praise you, Chief Magos, and praise our Imperium. At last, the traitor behind the Emperor's assassination has been exposed."
He then fixed his gaze upon the stunned scribe at his side. "Record this. I cannot wait to share this triumph with every citizen of the Imperium."
"I have a keen eye? You—01010111101! @￥%%...!" The Chief Magos was shaking, his logic circuits failing under the weight of rage and disbelief. Gothic binary interspersed with dialectic screeches escaped from his vox, his machine spirit struggling to process the sheer audacity before him.
"Dukel, you would not even take the effort to forge new evidence? Do you truly believe you can deceive the entire Imperium with this?"
Never before had he encountered such brazen shamelessness. He could no longer consider Dukel a mere man.
Dukel regarded him with mild disappointment. "Chief Magos, I once believed you to be loyal. But now I see—you, too, have fallen to the whispers of Chaos."
The Chief Magos forced himself to stillness, then spoke coldly. "Dukel, is everyone who opposes you now deemed a heretic?"
Dukel inclined his head, his tone measured. "Everything I do is for the Imperium. For the ideals of humanity. Those who stand in opposition to me, by definition, stand against the Imperium. And those who oppose the Imperium are, inevitably, heretics."
Silence fell.
Then—a burst of red flame.
The Chief Magos's body exploded in an instant, vaporized alongside the Fabrication General as they were consumed by fire and disassembled into nothingness.
Dukel retracted his iron-clad fist.
Before the gathered great magos of the Mechanicus, he had slain one of their highest-ranking members—without hesitation, without remorse.
The chamber was deathly quiet. Only the hum of servos and the distant clicking of cogitators filled the void.
Dukel's voice rang out, righteous and unyielding. "To slay the heretic is the duty of every citizen of the Imperium. Now, gentlemen, who among you would like to voice their defense of these traitors? Who among you dares to share in their fate? Stand before me, so that I may cleanse this assembly of its corruption!"
A moment passed.
Then, a single voice: "I—"
Dukel's fist struck before the word was completed. Flesh and steel shattered alike.
"Thief of the Imperium."
Another voice tried to rise in protest. It was silenced by a thunderous impact, a great magos reduced to a smear upon the chamber walls.
"Traitor!"
Boom.
One by one, Dukel moved through the assembly, his will absolute.
Twenty-two fell in rapid succession.
Or rather—twenty-two heretics were purged.
A suffocating silence followed.
The great magos who remained stared in mute horror at the carnage. Never had they witnessed a slaughter so methodical, so unfeeling.
Dukel's expression was impassive, his eyes devoid of warmth.
The Second Legion was renowned for its reason—but reason was wasted on those unworthy of discourse.
The fools of Terra and Mars, deluded by their own comfort, had mistaken his presence for mere political maneuvering.
To Dukel, this was no political struggle.
This was war.
Terra and Mars were not sacred realms to be debated over—they were battlefields to be conquered.
War is about the strong imposing their will upon the weak. There is no compromise. No pretense of morality.
Beyond superficial appearances, beyond the bare minimum of justification required for the masses, Dukel saw no need for scheming or deception.
There was only one solution:
To strike directly at the heart of the Imperium's rot.
To cut away its cancerous flesh and crush the remnants into dust.
"There are many more heretics on Mars. Fortunately, I have made the necessary preparations."
Dukel turned his gaze upon the council. "Who among you remains a heretic?"
No answer came.
The radicals had long since pledged themselves to his cause.
The neutrals had been bought and secured.
Even among the conservative great magos, many had already defected to his side within the halls of Raskian's palace.
As for those who truly had the resolve to stand against him—they were gone, reduced to nothingness.
Dukel smiled, satisfied.
"It is good to see that you are all loyal pillars of the Imperium. Your dedication brings me great relief."
His gaze fell upon a subordinate. "Gris, I trust that the residences of these twenty-two heretics will contain ample evidence of their corruption."
Gris hesitated for the briefest moment, then nodded. "Sir, I shall dispatch search teams immediately."
There would be evidence.
There was always evidence.
Dukel had shown him as much time and time again.
To not learn from such demonstrations would be an embarrassment to one who had served alongside the Expeditionary Fleets.
"The Adeptus Mechanicus is the Imperium's greatest ally and must not be left leaderless. Raskian fell to Chaos, his destruction inevitable."
Dukel turned, his decree final. "Until further notice, Gris shall serve as Acting Fabrication General. The Mechanicus must endure, and I trust he will uphold its sacred duty."
No one spoke in protest.
The Imperium had been purged of its dissenters.
The school that Gris belonged to was never considered worthy of producing a Fabrication General.
Even with the Primarch's direct intervention securing his temporary appointment, it was inevitable that a cadre of ancient, entrenched figures—many as old as Belisarius Cawl himself—would soon rise in opposition.
Understanding this, Dukel chose to use today's Great Convocation of the Magos to hold a formal election, ensuring a legitimate and uncontestable resolution to the matter.
Once the appointment was finalized through proper ceremony, even the most stubborn of the Mechanicus elders would struggle to fabricate a plausible objection.
At present, Gris was merely the acting candidate.
Dukel then shifted his gaze toward the paralyzed Magos Dominus, whose body was now laced with the telltale filigree of a lethal toxin. His optic lenses were clouded, his mind visibly deteriorated by the venom coursing through his cybernetic veins.
A mindless husk—bereft of self-awareness or will. What opinion could such a thing possibly offer?
Dukel, far from disappointed, simply inclined his head in satisfaction.
"Since Magos Dominus remains silent, I take this as his consent. Therefore, Gris shall now officially assume the rank of Fabrication General of Mars. Old friend, it seems your burdens will persist a while longer."
Gris, now Chief Fabricator of Mars, accepted the decision without hesitation. "For the glory of the Imperium, I will serve."
"Well spoken, Fabricator-General," Dukel declared. "Let us bear witness to this sacred moment, for the ideals of all Mankind!"
As the grand assembly of the Mechanicus convened, the bells tolled—a solemn hymn to loyalty and the unyielding march of progress.