For millennia, Dukel bore the weight of deception, cloaking himself in the guise of a tyrant to ensure the survival of his people and their ideals. His reputation was the price he paid for freedom from the Imperium's oppressive shadows.
Of course, this was merely Guilliman's perspective.
The Regent had seen the depths of emotion in Dukel's eyes. He knew his brother's kindness firsthand. During the harrowing Black Crusades, even the most menial laborers in Dukel's Expeditionary Corps were treated with the utmost care. Guilliman had witnessed it all—the brother whose compassion extended even to slaves. Such a man could never revel in slaughter. If Dukel had chosen to strike down the powerful, then he must have had no other choice.
The Lord of the Second Legion had undoubtedly suffered for it.
Dukel had always been a protector of humanity. He would set aside his pride, lower himself before a frail mother, and lift her child as if raising them before the Emperor Himself. Such was his nature—noble, boundless in kindness.
Yet now, for the sake of their shared ideals, they were forced to raise their swords against their own.
"And me? What have I done?"
Guilliman questioned himself.
Each time he resolved to stain his hands with the blood of sinners, doubt gripped him, shackled by the dogma instilled in him since youth.
He prided himself on his ability to learn and adapt. He had once engaged in strategic war simulations with the Raven Lord. At first, he had suffered defeat after defeat. But with time and experience, Corvus Corax could no longer best him.
Yet now, as he reflected on the past few days, the deeper he searched within himself, the more guilt took root.
He glanced at Dukel. Had he truly done all he could? Had he shouldered his part in the grand cause of mankind?
During the council of the Magi, he had hesitated. Twenty-two high-ranking figures of the Mechanicus stood before him. Did they deserve death?
His upbringing had shaped him into a man of order. He could kill, but he required absolute proof. He would never wield his blade against the weak without certainty.
And before a Primarch, the Magi were weak.
Unable to bring himself to act, he faltered.
Dukel did not.
With unshakable resolve and fire that burned away sin itself, Dukel struck first.
Guilliman had sworn to stand beside him, to bear the burden of command in this age of madness, to be the vanguard so Dukel would not fight alone.
Yet now, he stood behind him, basking in the victories won by his brother's unwavering will.
Regret gnawed at him.
"Forgive me, brother."
Dukel turned, surprised to hear Guilliman muttering to himself.
He studied his brother with quiet curiosity.
Then, with solemn conviction, the Regent spoke: "Brother, I believe those you struck down were guilty. If any wish to challenge your actions, let them come to me. I will bear every accusation."
He declared this before all.
In doing so, Guilliman bound himself entirely to Dukel's cause. Should the tides of fate turn and the Imperium brand Dukel a traitor, Guilliman would share in his condemnation, even if only for these words.
Dukel did not fully grasp the weight of his brother's thoughts, but he understood this much—the Regent had stepped fully into his camp.
And that was not a bad thing.
It meant that in the battles to come, Guilliman and the Ultramarines would heed his command without hesitation.
Dukel gave a simple nod. "Everything I do is just. To purge heretics is not a crime—it is an honor. And make no mistake, I seek no rewards. In the eyes of the Emperor, loyalty itself is the greatest reward."
He unsheathed his sword.
Golden fire erupted from the blade, wreathing him in the Emperor's radiance. A luminous halo of flame flared behind his head, forming a crown of divine sanction.
This was the Emperor's blessing.
A testament that Dukel walked in His light. Were his actions to stray from the Emperor's will, the flames would abandon him.
Bathed in holy fire, Dukel stood as a god among men—majestic, righteous, the arbiter of justice and retribution.
The Magi recoiled from the blinding brilliance, their minds overcome with awe and terror. Even those who had been bribed into neutrality stood frozen in disbelief.
As for the staunchest of the opposition, they could no longer deny the truth before them.
This was impossible.
Since the moment the Lord of the Second Legion had set foot on Mars, he had torn through opposition, striking down those who dared defy him.
Yet the Emperor's blessing remained.
Could it be that those slain were truly heretics?
"No! This is impossible! An illusion!"
A conservative Magos, who had hidden his defiance well, could no longer contain himself.
Suppression through fear alone was never enough. True conviction was necessary for absolute loyalty.
Dukel understood this well, yet he did not anger. He merely gazed upon the dissenting Magos.
Guilliman, however, acted immediately.
With righteous fury, he drew his sword and spoke with iron resolve. "Brother, leave this heretic to me."
Then he turned to the assembly. "Magi, you are scholars of unparalleled wisdom. You know of the Emperor's power. The blessings of the Holy God-Emperor cannot be forged by any means!"
His voice rang through the chamber. "Many among you have worked closely with the Ecclesiarchy and the Sisters of Battle. You understand this truth. If the Emperor's power could be so easily mimicked, then the forces of the Ruinous Powers would have plunged the galaxy into chaos long ago simply by invoking His name!"
A Magos nodded in agreement. "The Lord Regent speaks true. The power of the Emperor cannot be feigned."
Another, though wary, muttered, "Lord Dukel possesses technology capable of warping reality itself… but even he could not forge a miracle such as this."
The great Magos also nodded. The immense power manifested by the Emperor was no secret to those present.
Most had heard of it.
His blessing represented His will.
None dared question the Emperor's justice.
So—
"How could this be?" The Magos who had just accused Dukel of deception felt his worldview shatter.
"Your Majesty, your son is distorting truth, committing slaughter and destruction. Is this right?" The Archmagos looked at the blazing crown behind the Primarch and accused him loudly.
Dukel remained indifferent. "Who says that killing and destruction are inherently evil? The Emperor rationally loves every citizen of the Imperium. If those I have killed are parasites feeding off its corruption, why would my actions not be just? Ending one life to save ten billion soldiers—is that not righteous? Naturally, the Emperor blesses me."
Hearing these words, Guilliman's tall frame trembled slightly.
He began to understand.
He knew the Emperor's ideals, had long resented the way the Lord of Mankind treated his sons as mere instruments.
But now, it seemed far simpler than he had ever imagined.
To fight for humanity, to serve its survival, was to be seen by the Emperor.
"You doubt my words? The proof is simple."
Guilliman heard Dukel speak again.
Then, before anyone could react, Dukel raised his hand and beheaded the heretic.
Before the stunned audience, the golden crown of thorns behind the Primarch flared even brighter.
"What Dukel claims is true." Guilliman slowly nodded, deep in thought.
If Dukel knew what the Regent was realizing at this moment, he would have smiled.
Loyalty is not so complicated.
Blood for the Emperor. Skulls for the Golden Throne.
If Dukel's earlier execution of twenty-two Magos had been a shock, this public demonstration of heresy's price was nothing short of a cataclysm.
The great Magos were shaken to their core.
They did not understand—but they were terrified.
Many stood abruptly, scrutinizing the golden radiance behind Dukel.
Dukel, utterly at ease, welcomed their scrutiny.
His conscience was clear.
And truth prevailed—his Imperial blessing was real, undeniable.
This was the power of the Emperor's rational judgment. So long as an action aligned with the Emperor's will, this power would grow, limitless in its authority.
"I see now! I finally understand!"
Guilliman's voice rang out before Dukel could speak again.
"The Emperor embodies the highest justice, concerned only with the future of mankind. He is impartial, favoring no individual—not even His Primarchs. But when the execution of a traitor benefits the Imperium, the Emperor's blessing follows, regardless of legal convention."
Guilliman now grasped Dukel's methods.
"In truth, it is impossible to punish the Imperium's elite through law. Over ten millennia, they have woven the laws to protect themselves. They do not break the Imperium's codes—but they still deserve death."
Guilliman had always believed in order, in rules.
If a law decreed someone innocent, he had no right to execute them.
But Dukel had no such limitations.
Dukel judged from a higher perspective: the grand design of mankind's survival.
"Dukel kills not out of cruelty, but to spare untold innocents. Not only is he blameless—he will be rewarded."
The great Magos present began to grasp this truth.
Imperial law was sacred—but that sanctity derived from the Emperor Himself.
In His presence, law held no absolute dominion.
Dukel judged as the Lord of Mankind would. Against such justice, the law was mere parchment.
This was why Dukel acted without hesitation.
With the Emperor as his witness, he would never strike an innocent.
Realizing this, the Magos were even more unsettled.
The Fabricator General, Gris, could sit still no longer.
Through the noospheric link, he urgently signaled Dukel, pleading for restraint.
If Guilliman was truly consumed by righteous fury, a massacre of Mars' highest minds would be inevitable.
Dukel signaled Gris to remain calm.
Then he spoke: "Congratulations, Guilliman. You have uncovered the truth."
The assembled Magos grew even more anxious.
A man like Guilliman, bound by strict principles, was terrifying once truly committed.
They feared he would launch a purge at any moment.
Fortunately, Dukel's next words stayed the Regent's hand.
"If we slaughtered every influential figure of the Imperium, some innocents would surely perish. But if we spared half, some guilty would escape justice. Even if we executed them all, in the final balance, the benefits would outweigh the losses."
Dukel spoke with conviction.
Given how methodically he had dismantled corrupt power, Guilliman believed him.
"Then let us execute them all," Guilliman declared, his voice dark with certainty. "No sacrifice is too great."
Dukel swiftly interceded, "Guilliman, you are being too extreme."
He smiled. "We must not worsen the Imperium's plight with our actions. Crime alone is not the measure. Our highest goal is the realization of our shared vision."
The Magos looked at Dukel with gratitude.
Guilliman, however, remained dissatisfied.
"So we simply let these parasites live?"
Dukel: "There must be balance. I do not know if killing them all would improve our people's fate. But I do know one thing."
"And what is that?"
"So long as everyone here commits to our cause, the Imperium will be strengthened. It does not matter whether they deserve death. What matters is their willingness to aid us in achieving humanity's ultimate destiny."
At this moment, Dukel's presence in the Parliament had grown even more imposing. It was as if those gathered were seeing him anew, their perceptions reshaped by the weight of his actions and words.
Of course, this did not include Guilliman.
The Lord Regent had already begun to match Dukel's pace, adapting to his methods with rapid precision. His earlier hesitation had been deliberate, but that did not mean his anger was false. It was genuine, and he channeled it into a deeper understanding of what needed to be done.
"I see now," Guilliman exhaled, his voice measured but carrying a murderous edge. "Their hearts are steeped in corruption, brother. Will they truly cooperate with us?"
"In the name of the Omnissiah, I swear to you both!" came the immediate reply from one of the senior Magos present. "What you have done today is for the salvation of Mankind. It is worthy of the highest reverence. I will follow your example and work to restore the Imperium's lost glory."
"Rest assured, Regent," another Magos added hastily. "Under Lord Dukel's guidance, I have rediscovered the purpose for which I joined the Mechanicus in the first place."
Yet, their assurances failed to ease Guilliman's concerns. His frown deepened.
"Brother, they speak too easily," he said, voice laden with suspicion. "Words are wind, and I find it difficult to trust those who shift their allegiances so quickly."
Guilliman's grip on his blade tightened. The Primarch of the Ultramarines did not believe in half-measures. "Perhaps it would be best to purge them all. The pain would be temporary, and in time, true loyalists will rise to take their place."
A palpable wave of fear passed through the assembled Magos.
They had thought Dukel was the greatest threat to their survival, but the Regent, with his unwavering sense of justice, proved to be even more terrifying.
Fortunately, Dukel spoke before Guilliman could act.
"Brother, we may despise their character, but we cannot dismiss their utility."
He turned to the gathered Mechanicus leadership, his golden eyes scanning their expressions. "I believe that so long as you cooperate sincerely, the Imperium's glory will be restored sooner rather than later."
"We will comply with your wishes, Lord Dukel."
"The Second Legion is indeed most reasonable."
"I pledge my loyalty to both of you."
The Magos were not fools.
They could not afford to gamble on whether this was a well-orchestrated act, a careful interplay of good cop and bad cop between the Primarchs. Guilliman's anger seemed far too real to be mere theater.
Thus, though Dukel had forced them into submission, they still felt compelled to express their gratitude.
Of course, for Dukel, this was merely a beginning.
He raised his voice once more, his words ringing through the grand chamber. "Let us all stand together in service to the Imperium."
"Praise the Omnissiah! Praise the Imperium! May the glory of Mankind endure forever!"
"Praise Lord Dukel!"
"Praise the Regent!"
"Praise the Fabricator General!"
When the chants finally subsided, Dukel delivered yet another revelation, his tone exuding magnanimity.
"Your loyalty to the Imperium is noted. True servants of Mankind require no reward, but I shall offer you a gift nonetheless. Each of you will receive a cache of Standard Template Construct (STC) data—fragments of knowledge from the Dark Age of Technology, painstakingly recovered from the void. Even as we speak, these treasures have been delivered to your laboratories."
A tense silence gripped the chamber. The Magos exchanged wary glances, knowing such technology was invaluable beyond measure. Yet, Dukel was not finished.
"Of course," he continued, "these relics from antiquity bear certain... residual effects. Curses, if you will. But do not be alarmed. You need only visit Magos Gris's sanctum for periodic purification rites. A simple ritual once per year will ensure these artifacts remain benign. There is no risk to your souls."
Once again, silence reigned. Then, slowly, the Mechanicus leaders bowed in solemn gratitude.
"Praise the Primarch. Praise you and your generosity."
Dukel smiled in satisfaction.
Before arriving on Mars, he had harbored concerns about the Adeptus Mechanicus—suspecting them of secrecy, factionalism, civil strife, forbidden research, and quiet defiance against the Imperium.
Now, it seemed, the Cult of the Machine was far more loyal than he had anticipated.