Dukel had spent the past days researching the Star Gods.
All evidence pointed to the legendary Dragon of Mars being a fragment of the Void Dragon, one of the dreaded C'tan.
Out of respect for the Emperor's ancient battles and the dangers posed by the Star Gods, he proceeded with caution.
At the same time, he awaited the arrival of the Mechanicum's investigation team, dispatched by the Martian Dragon Guardian Order.
The Fabricator General had taken his own life, unwilling to face judgment for his failures. Even the hidden lords of Mars could not ignore such a catastrophic event. Dukel intended to use this as an opportunity to uncover more secrets about the Dragon of Mars.
"Why hasn't the investigation team arrived yet?" Dukel set down the parchment reports and turned to Efilar. "How much longer can we remain on Mars?"
They had been on Mars for a full Terran week, yet there was still no sign of the Guardian Order's investigators. While the Imperium's bureaucracy was notoriously slow, this matter involved a Primarch and the former Fabricator General. Someone should have responded by now.
The delay unsettled him.
Efilar replied calmly, "My lord, we can remain on Mars for only one more day. The day after tomorrow marks your official ascension as the Supreme Warmaster. We must return to Terra ahead of time to make final preparations."
Dukel nodded.
His schedule had already been set. Deviating from it was not an option.
"We wait another half-day," he decided. "If the investigation team still does not arrive, we will seek them out ourselves."
Storming the Midnight Maze—the prison of the Dragon of Mars—without consulting the Guardian Order was risky. But Dukel had no intention of leaving this final, lurking threat unchecked. He needed to secure Mars before his departure.
Just as these thoughts solidified in his mind—
Boom!
A violent tremor erupted from beneath the surface of Mars. The world shuddered under the force of the sudden energy surge. The very planet seemed to quake as an immense force rippled through its crust.
The disturbance did not cease. Instead, it grew, as though something vast was attempting to rip the planet apart.
Across the surface, countless Magi emerged from their forges, their metallic bodies jerking with confusion. The data did not match anything recorded in the past millennia. The energy parameters were beyond comprehension.
A Thunderhawk roared as it descended onto the landing pad outside Dukel's chambers.
Roboute Guilliman disembarked immediately.
The moment the tremor struck, his first thought had been: This is Dukel's doing.
Thus, he had come straight to his brother's palace, prepared for yet another catastrophe caused by Dukel's reckless actions.
But when he saw his brother sitting calmly at his desk, clearly as perplexed as he was, Guilliman's unease turned to alarm.
If this was not Dukel's doing…
"Dukel," Guilliman said sharply. "What is happening beneath the surface of Mars?"
Dukel did not answer immediately. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his psychic senses. The answer came quickly.
"The Dragon refuses to remain imprisoned," Dukel murmured. "It is attempting to shatter its cage."
Guilliman's expression darkened.
The Dragon of Mars attempting to break free could only mean one thing—a massive conspiracy was at play.
If the creature fully escaped, sealing it again would come at an immense cost. Mars itself could suffer irreversible devastation.
Without hesitation, the Primarchs made for Olympus Mons.
To maintain mobility, they brought only a small force—ten Astartes guards, the Archmagos Belisarius Cawl, Efilar, and a few others. They followed a dust-covered path into a long-sealed passageway.
Finding the Midnight Maze was simple. The Emperor himself had spoken of its location to the Primarchs long ago.
Soon, they stood before a grand gate of impossible construction.
"Guilliman," Dukel said, "your sword is the key."
Without hesitation, Guilliman thrust the Emperor's Sword into the massive lock mechanism.
With a thunderous crack, the colossal doors split apart.
For the first time in millennia, the Midnight Maze of Mars revealed its true form.
Inside, reality itself twisted.
The floor shimmered like liquid metal, despite remaining solid beneath their feet. The walls pulsed as if they were alive, shifting in texture and composition before their eyes. Strange energies distorted the air.
"The Lion would appreciate this place," Dukel remarked with a smirk. "It holds too many secrets."
Cawl frowned at the readings from his sensors. "Data corruption detected…" he muttered. "This should not be possible. This is not technology—it is some form of warp sorcery. I have never encountered such phenomena anywhere in the galaxy."
His scans returned nothing coherent. Every value fluctuated wildly, defying logical consistency. Even causality itself seemed reversed in places.
"Cawl," Dukel said, "don't waste your time analyzing this place. The rules of reality here are unlike those of the material universe. Any attempt to measure it through conventional means is meaningless."
"This is a defense mechanism," he continued. "The Emperor designed it to ensure that without the proper guidance, no one would ever escape. The Midnight Maze exists outside of our physical reality."
Cawl shook his head in astonishment. "To think that humanity could achieve such an advanced construct…"
Dukel glanced at him. "You assume this is human technology? The Emperor was both the greatest scientist and the most powerful psyker. He never confined himself to one discipline."
This entire labyrinth was more than just a vault—it was a prison designed to hold something far beyond human comprehension.
When the Emperor had sealed the Void Dragon, humanity had not yet even reached the industrial age. He had not done it with mere machinery alone.
They pressed forward, navigating the impossible pathways, stepping upon roads of flowing liquid metal.
Finally, they reached a vast cavern.
It was as though the planet's core had been hollowed out, revealing a subterranean world nearly as vast as the surface.
Titanic pillars supported the weight of Mars above them. Far in the distance, flickers of unnatural light pulsed erratically.
Guilliman's eyes narrowed. "Dukel… there's a battle happening ahead."
Dukel nodded grimly. "We are close to the Dragon's prison now. And I am certain of one thing."
His gaze sharpened, his hand tightening around his weapon.
"This is no mere machine-spirit. It is a Star God (C'tan)."
Upon hearing this, the Primarch's guards instinctively raised their weapons, ready to protect their master at all costs.
Soon, the group arrived at the source of the flashing light.
Boom!—
A massive explosion echoed through the underground expanse, unleashing a storm of energy that swept across the battlefield. The sheer force of the blast sent visible waves of energy cascading outward, threatening to engulf them all.
With wings of flame burning behind him, Efilar stepped forward, shielding the group. When the storm finally subsided, a grim tableau unfolded before them—a scene of devastation unlike anything they had ever witnessed.
The battlefield was a graveyard of shattered machines. Hundreds of millions of Mechanicus constructs lay ruined, their energy cores having detonated in uncontrolled explosions, filling the underground world with towering columns of fire.
When the smoke cleared, the true cause of the chaos was revealed.
A dark, writhing radiance pulsed with an eerie, malevolent energy. The presence exuded an overwhelming sense of dread, as if the very fabric of reality recoiled from its existence. The unnatural light surged forward, shattering even the most formidable steel constructs with contemptuous ease.
A lone warrior stood defiantly against the darkness—a woman clad in Mechanicus-wrought battle armor, wielding an array of weapons powered by the highest technologies of Mars. But even she was being overwhelmed. Her defenses crumbled, and her weapons were rendered useless against the terrible force she faced.
The dark radiance began to take form.
The writhing energy coalesced into a towering, metallic figure—an abomination of cold, lifeless beauty. Six hexagonal prisms hovered ominously along the length of its metallic wings, crackling with void-born lightning. Its hollow visage glowed with an unholy green luminescence, and a brilliant energy halo blazed behind its head.
The Void Dragon.
The origin of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The most learned among the C'tan, the so-called Star Gods.
"Monster!" Guilliman roared in fury, his gaze burning as he took in the battlefield's carnage. He drew the Emperor's Sword, its divine flames illuminating his wrath. "I will take your head!"
With thunderous determination, the Primarch prepared to charge, but Dukel raised a hand, stopping him.
"Wait, brother. Look."
Guilliman hesitated and followed Dukel's gaze. In the distance, through the swirling dust and flame, a lone knight emerged.
Clad in heavy golden armor, a crimson-tasseled helm upon his head, the knight rode forth atop a magnificent warhorse. In his grasp was a silver-white spear, its blade engraved with the sigils of countless victories.
Guilliman's breath caught. His mind reeled at what he saw.
"Father?"
The knight's face was unmistakable—he bore the visage of the Emperor Himself.
Without hesitation, the golden warrior spurred his steed forward, charging straight toward the monstrous dragon that threatened to consume the underground realm.
The Void Dragon roared, its enormous form a grotesque fusion of reptilian horror and avian cruelty. Its scales shimmered with an unnatural metallic sheen, and its contempt for the knight was evident in its ancient, pitiless gaze.
With a single swipe of its sickle-like claws, the mighty warhorse was cleaved in two. But the knight was undeterred. He leapt from the ruined saddle, his spear thrusting forward with divine purpose.
The weapon struck true, but the C'tan's body was no mere flesh and bone—it was living metal, ever-shifting and indomitable. The spear splintered upon impact.
Even so, the knight did not falter. Landing upon the dragon's back, he drew his blade and began his relentless assault.
The Void Dragon shrieked in rage. Though it was but a fragment of its former self, its power remained immense. Its scales rippled like liquid metal, dispersing each blow with contemptuous ease.
With a savage counterattack, the dragon's talons tore through the golden knight's armor, rending deep wounds into his body. Blood, rich and radiant, spilled onto the battlefield.
His helmet was sent flying, revealing a face so noble, so fiercely determined, that even in agony, he appeared godlike.
And yet, the knight fought on. His form blazed with golden radiance, his sword carving luminous arcs through the darkened battlefield.
The Void Dragon reveled in its assumed victory—until the knight, with preternatural perception, discerned a weakness. A flaw in its shifting armor.
Seizing the opportunity, he dodged the next strike and plunged his sword into the exposed chink. The weapon bit deep, golden flames erupting along its length.
The C'tan shrieked, its inhuman voice reverberating through the depths of Mars.
"Your power is too dangerous—a threat to all of humanity! I will imprison you!"
As the declaration echoed through the battlefield, the energy within the Void Dragon began to dim. The terrifying, star-born entity staggered, its immense form collapsing under the weight of the knight's unyielding will.
Loyal soldiers and fervent acolytes rushed forward, their voices raised in triumph. The battle had ended.
Guilliman stood motionless, his mind reeling.
"Is this a vision of the past?" he murmured. He knew full well the Emperor would not appear here, yet the scene felt too real to be mere illusion.
Dukel did not answer immediately. He merely observed in silence, analyzing the unfolding events. From this battle, he could gauge the true power of both the Emperor and the Void Dragon.
"No," a voice interrupted. It was Cawl, his voice uncharacteristically shaken. "This is no illusion."
His display screens flickered wildly, error messages cascading across their surfaces. His logic cores struggled to reconcile the data before him.
"This place... Every grain of sand, every atom, has been arranged with absolute precision by an intelligence far beyond our understanding."
Cawl's voice trembled, his data-feeds unraveling into chaos. To glimpse the work of the divine was to court madness.
The great consciousness behind this space had forged an entire reality, one where the boundaries between illusion and existence were meaningless. Cawl's circuits overheated, his systems failing under the strain of comprehension.
Just before his mind shattered, a massive, armored hand gripped his shoulder.
"Stop analyzing, Cawl," Dukel commanded, his voice unyielding. "Everything here exists in the liminal space between illusion and reality. You will not find meaning in it."
Cawl's consciousness was wrenched back from the abyss. He gasped, his servos whirring as he struggled to stabilize himself.
Dukel turned his gaze toward the space before them. With a flex of his will, he tore open a passage in the shimmering void.
"Come. Let us see what a dragon truly looks like."
For in this universe, once walked beings beyond mortal comprehension.
Asagorod the Nightbringer. Landugor the Flayer. Mephitlan the Deceiver. Nyadra Zatha the Burner.
The C'tan. The so-called Star Gods.
They fed upon the light of suns, embodying the very laws of the cosmos. And though the march of time had erased many names, their echoes endured, whispering across eternity.
For the Imperium, there is one more name that must be spoken—the Void Dragon, Mag'ladroth.
The Star Gods were ancient beyond reckoning, their existence predating even the Old Ones. It is said they roamed the material realm before the first stars were born, before the universe knew the light. Like all myths of creation, they emerged with the birth of existence itself.
Throughout history, only the Old Ones succeeded in besting these primordial beings. Even the Necrontyr, once the galaxy's would-be overlords, triumphed only by treachery, striking during the internecine war of the gods.
Even the Dragon of Mars, subdued by the Emperor and imprisoned for over ten thousand years, was no match for a Star God. And this was not even the god's whole self—merely a shattered fragment.
Beneath the surface of Mars, in the hidden vaults of the Omnissiah's world, a battle raged. Dahlia fought against the Void Dragon, the very woman Dukel and his entourage had glimpsed moments before.
Terrifying energies gathered into a storm, antimatter coalescing into spears of annihilation, dark flames cascading like meteors. There was no refuge, no escape. Everything would kneel before the dominion of a god.
Mars' subterranean depths became a firestorm under the Void Dragon's wrath. Dahlia was struck down, her body sundered by its power. Yet, through ancient relics and the gifts of her altered form, she reconstituted within mere breaths. But her armor was shattered, her power systems failing under the strain.
Her broken form plummeted, striking the stone with force enough to leave a crater. She tumbled into the pillar of a long-forgotten vault, a jagged steel spike piercing her once more.
Yet she rose. Despite agony and the weight of futility, she stood. In this nameless underground sanctum, she waged war against an ancient Star God—not to win, for that was impossible, but to delay its wrath for the sake of humanity.
The Void Dragon regarded her, its vast wings folding as it descended.
"You know there is no salvation, yet you fight to the end."
Its voice resonated with something beyond mortal comprehension. Both it and Dahlia had seen the Primarch and his retinue before they were drawn into the ancient god's memory maze. Yet what puzzled the Star God most was her defiance. This battle had no hope. No reinforcements would come. And yet she stood.
The gap between them was insurmountable—less a mantis before a war machine, more a flickering candle against the heart of a sun.
What force compelled such fragile creatures to defy inevitability?
"I need no reinforcements." Dahlia forced herself upright. "The Emperor entrusted me with this duty, and for humanity, I will stand forever."
"Madness." The Void Dragon stepped forward, its sickle-like forelimbs raised to strike once more. "Sleep, then, in the eternity of oblivion."
At that moment, a dozen warriors burst forth from a rift in space—Angels clad in ceramite and adamantium, warriors wreathed in the fire of righteous purpose.
Without hesitation, they charged.
Their impact struck like a planetary bombardment, their combined might forcing even the mountain-sized dragon to stagger.
The Void Dragon reared back, unleashing a deafening roar. The sound alone split rock and sent waves of force through the chamber. A shockwave followed, a maelstrom of energy that hurled the warriors through the air like leaves in a hurricane.
The Doom Squad and Dragon Guard were thrown aside, their forms battered and broken by the storm.
Dahlia, barely clinging to consciousness, felt the air itself burn. The impact had nearly obliterated her, the sheer force threatening to tear her apart even at the molecular level.
Then, as she struggled against the pain, space rippled before her.
A figure emerged.
A man clad in armor as unyielding as the void itself, eyes alight with the fire of conquest. In that moment, Dahlia saw something more than a warrior—she saw a wildfire, a force that razed weakness and forged civilizations.
A divine commander, spoken of only in legend, had arrived.
Even the greatest of the Adeptus Astartes paled before a true Titan.
His war-plate bore the scars of uncounted campaigns, each mark a testament to triumph. Behind him, a scarlet cloak billowed, like an ocean of blood stirred by the storm.
He did not waver. He did not kneel.
The storm, powerful enough to unmake tanks, failed to move him. He strode forward, step by inexorable step, into the heart of the tempest.
He raised his fist. A gauntlet of adamantine and myth.
"Dragon, your power is too great to be left unchained."
The fist descended. A single strike, like the hammer of the Omnissiah Himself.
A thousand blows followed in an instant.
Each impact shattered reality itself, a brutal force that silenced even the howling storm.
The energy dissipated. The hurricane fell still.
Dahlia, gasping, looked to where the Void Dragon had stood.
What once had been a god, a terror that dwarfed mountains, was now a mere fragment of metal no larger than a mortal's hand.
A weapon of ancient design.
A prison.
A silence hung over the battlefield, the weight of a legend reborn.
And somewhere, in the deepest echoes of the past, the Star Gods shuddered.