In orbit above the hidden world, aboard the Tau flagship.
Bang!
A mass of writhing black shadows coalesced in front of Shadowsun, flowing like liquid, before depositing a stack of documents onto the table before her.
"My young ally, you would do well to read this intelligence."
The shadowed figure loomed over Shadowsun, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The condescension in his voice was unmistakable.
"What happened?" Shadowsun's expression darkened. The mockery of their so-called allies was irritating, but an even deeper sense of unease gnawed at her.
"Tsk, tsk. Shadowsun, was this not your grand strategy? The Second Primarch is here, and he is not alone," the dark figure sneered, his voice devoid of sympathy for the intelligence he had just delivered. "You deviated from the plan. You led the Imperium's Primarch straight into the Tau Empire's domain. Because of your folly, your kind has paid the price in blood."
Shadowsun's mind went blank. The words hit her harder than any weapon could. With a trembling hand, she reached for the documents.
This can't be...
Her face paled as her eyes scanned the reports. Every statistic was a dagger driven into her heart.
Sixteen worlds had been razed. The fate of their populations remained unknown. Entire cities had been reduced to cinders. Every monument to the Tau civilization, every testament to their culture and progress—obliterated.
The perpetrators? The warriors of a single being—the Second Primarch of the Imperium.
The reports detailed his relentless advance, his forces tearing through the sector. Worse still, the Primarch had been asking a single question repeatedly:
"Where is the Tau Commander?"
No survivors were left to spread word of the destruction. The galaxy had not spoken of these massacres—the only reason Shadowsun now knew was because their dark allies had chosen to tell her.
The absurdity of it all made her stomach churn. As she scrutinized the documents, every possible analysis led to the same chilling conclusion:
It was true.
"Impossible," she whispered, her voice hollow. "The damn Primarch was pursuing us. How could he have found our star systems?"
The Primarch had been hunting them relentlessly. Why had he stopped now?
"Why would we lie?" The shadow scoffed. "You claimed that an entire Imperial Legion trailed the Primarch. And yet... where is it? If such a force truly existed, do you think only sixteen worlds would have fallen?"
Where was the Legion? Shadowsun's thoughts spiraled.
She had warned the dark allies to be wary of the Imperium's reinforcements. She had anticipated their arrival. Yet they never came.
Only the Primarch came.
And he had not come here.
Instead, he had carved a path of annihilation through Tau space.
Sixteen worlds lost. Countless lives extinguished.
"A butcher. An executioner!" Shadowsun's hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms. "I must kill him at any cost!"
The reports did not dwell on the slaughter, but she could see the atrocities vividly in her mind:
The smoldering ruins of cities, the charred remains of her people, their limbs torn asunder, their bodies reduced to nothing but fuel for the Imperial war machine. A crimson tide of flame consuming all that was dear to the Tau.
And she—she—was the one who had brought the Primarch here.
This is my fault.
The blood of her people was on her hands. It pooled, vast and suffocating, drowning her in a tide of despair.
War in the galaxy had always been brutal. As a commander, she had conquered many worlds; she knew the cries of the defeated well. But never before had she felt this weight. Never before had she stood as the architect of such devastation.
Suddenly, she lifted her gaze, locking onto the dark figure before her. Her bloodshot eyes burned with accusation.
"You knew," she hissed. "You orchestrated this from the very beginning. The prophecy—everything was part of your design! You brought the Primarch here! You doomed my people!"
"No, no, my dear friend," the shadowy figure chuckled. "Think carefully. Who revealed the prophecy to you? Who gave you the coordinates? Who laid out a flawless plan? We provided everything you needed for victory. And yet—what did you do?"
The figure leaned closer, his voice mockingly gentle.
"We served the meal before you. We set the table. All you had to do was reach out and feast on victory. But what did you do? You overturned the tray, spilled the meal onto your lap, and now, like a helpless child, you wail and blame us for your own incompetence."
His voice grew sharper.
"Are you an infant, Shadowsun? Because I regret to inform you that the galaxy is not kind to infants. It tolerates executioners and murderers, but it has no place for crying babes."
He smirked, clearly relishing her turmoil.
"You—!" Shadowsun slammed her fist into the table.
Bang!
The alloy dented under her blow.
She was no fool. She saw now that everything had been calculated from the very start.
But there was still time to act.
Shadowsun inhaled deeply, forcing composure back into her mind. She could not afford to turn on their dark allies now. Not yet.
"I can still fix this," she murmured. Without sparing the shadow another glance, she turned on her heel and strode from the chamber.
She had a fleet to rally.
She would correct her mistakes. She would avenge her people. She would kill the bastard who had invaded Tau space.
Behind her, the dark figure watched in amusement.
"I wish you the best of luck," he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.
As Shadowsun departed, he toyed idly with a small, crystalline sphere.
Like a child playing with marbles.
"Everything is going as planned."
Elsewhere.
A massive rift split open between the stars as the fleet emerged from the warp.
At the bow of the command vessel stood the Primarch, his piercing gaze fixed on the planet before him. Something stirred in his memory.
"Captain, where are we? This place... it seems familiar."
The captain hesitated. His mouth opened, then shut. Silence fell over the bridge.
He and the Navigator had checked the charts repeatedly.
This can't be right.
And yet...
"Your Highness," the captain's voice was hoarse, eyes alight with fanaticism. "According to our intelligence... we are in orbit over the homeworld of the Tau. The capital of their Empire."
A deep silence hung in the air before realization dawned upon the Primarch.
"So this is T'au?" He raised the Aquila Imperialis high above his head. "Warriors of the Imperium, for the Emperor!"
The fleet roared in answer.
"Wait, Lord Primarch!" A voice cut through the fervor.
Magos Gris, the Tech-Priest, turned, his augmetics whirring erratically. From the vents of his cranial plating, black smoke curled into the air.
Something was very, very wrong.
When Magos Gris heard this, a plume of black smoke hissed from his cranial vents. Instinctively, he stepped in front of the Primarch, his augmented limbs twitching with unease.
"What is it?" Dukel asked impatiently, halting in his stride.
"Your Highness, are we truly launching a direct assault on the T'au homeworld?" Gris inquired cautiously.
"What else?" Dukel replied flatly.
"We could withdraw for the time being," Gris suggested.
Dukel's expression darkened. "What does 'retreat' mean, Gris?"
"Your Highness, this is their capital," the magos said, exasperation creeping into his voice. "A stronghold fortified beyond measure. The entire T'au Empire will rally to its defense the moment we strike. We do not possess the forces necessary to seize and hold such a position. Even if we were on the cradle-world of the ancient Titans, victory with our current numbers would be uncertain."
Dukel remained silent, his piercing gaze fixed on Gris.
The Magos pressed on. "Your Highness, we can transmit these coordinates to the greater Crusade fleet through the Noospheric relay. It would take no more than three—perhaps six—months at most before reinforcements arrive. The might of the Imperium will burn this xenos filth to cinders."
Dukel exhaled through his nose before nodding. "You make a valid point. I shall send the coordinates to Shivara and instruct her to relay my orders."
He turned to the assembled warriors. "This time, we shall be the vanguard of the Emperor's wrath!"
"But—"
"No buts, Gris," Dukel interjected. "I understand your concerns." He raised the Aquila Banner of Destiny high, its ancient sigil gleaming with golden radiance. Laughter rumbled from his chest, a sound both ominous and triumphant. "Fear not! Victory is inevitable!"
As his voice rang out, the Imperial standard erupted in blinding light, as though a newborn star had ignited within the void. The Emperor's divine radiance spread across the xenos-held system, reaching every conscious being within range of its holy luminance.
Then—
"BZZZZT—"
"Enemy attack!"
"For the Greater Good!"
The T'au defense grid came alive in an instant. The void between the stars was soon crawling with T'au vessels, surging forth like a disturbed hornet swarm. Every available warship mobilized, converging upon the Imperial fleet with relentless precision.
Gris spoke no further. From a rational standpoint, he wanted to weep at the impending calamity. Yet something primal stirred within him—a fire, a devotion. The Imperial Aquila blazed in his mind, banishing all doubt.
This damnable sense of security!
"They've spotted us!" Dukel remarked, observing the oncoming armada with an air of amusement.
A scoff came from the vox. "My deceitful brother, when have you ever valued discretion?" Magnus' voice crackled through the channel.
Dukel ignored him.
"No matter. The script writes itself." He turned to the fleet's scribe. "Record this. Our expeditionary force, engaged in an archaeological mission, inadvertently strayed into the T'au home system. We sought only to pass unnoticed."
A dramatic sigh left the Primarch's lips as he continued, "Alas, our noble intentions were met with hostility. The T'au, in their unprovoked aggression, launched a brutal assault upon our vulnerable flotilla, leaving us no choice but to defend ourselves."
He fixed his gaze upon the scribe. "Ensure the report reads as such."
"And now—" Dukel's psychic aura surged outward, an invisible force reinforcing the fleet's void shields. With a thunderous boom, his warship plunged into the enemy formation.
Aboard one of the besieged T'au vessels, a Fire Caste commander bellowed, "Who are you?! Does the Imperium truly believe a single fleet can conquer the heart of the T'au Empire?!"
Dukel landed with the force of a meteorite, the ship beneath him groaning under the impact. He straightened, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement.
"State your purpose, human!" the Fire Caste warrior demanded. "For the Greater Good, we may yet spare you!"
Even amidst their collective outrage, the T'au hesitated. The warrior's presence commanded respect among them, his authority absolute.
His words were his final mistake.
BZZZT—
The chainsword roared to life.
A single strike carved through the T'au's ornate battlesuit, slicing effortlessly through reinforced plating, flesh, and bone. The commander's expression froze, as though his dying mind still pondered the absurdity of the moment.
Dukel withdrew his weapon. "Far too much talk."
Panic erupted among the T'au ranks. None had expected such speed, such ferocity. Their commander had been reduced to gore before their very eyes.
A towering battlesuit—larger even than a Primarch—stepped forward, its pilot's voice a storm of suppressed fury. "Human, I acknowledge your skill."
The battlesuit's weapons primed. "But your arrogance has doomed you. You will die here, and when you do, we shall dissect your brain to uncover your plans."
BANG!
Before the pilot could finish, Dukel vanished from sight, reappearing directly before the battlesuit. His fist crashed against its cockpit.
The towering mecha crumpled. The reinforced plating gave way under the sheer force, twisted metal and pulverized flesh spilling forth. The pilot had ceased to exist in the span of a heartbeat.
Dukel shook his head. "All this boasting, yet you die like vermin."
As the battle raged, another force watched from the shadows.
A small Imperial strike team lay concealed beneath the dense canopy of an alien jungle. Their eyes turned skyward, their expressions ones of utter disbelief.
Dante swallowed hard.
"Lion El'Jonson…"
He turned to his commander. "Why is His Highness Dukel here?"
The Lion's gaze remained fixed on the unfolding carnage. "He must be after Ran'Dan's secret. After ten thousand years of exile, he seeks the truth of his past. The reason he was sealed away."
Dante exhaled slowly. "Then what are our orders?"
"We wait."
The thick foliage concealed them, veiling their presence even from a Primarch's supernatural senses. The towering forms of the Talas trees, imbued with arcane shielding, ensured their silence.
"We must be patient, Dante." The Lion's voice was a whisper in the wind. "Let the prey reveal itself. Then, we shall bury this secret forever."
His golden eyes narrowed, locking onto Dukel's war-torn battlefield. He watched. He waited. The hunt had begun.