From Duke's vantage point, Terra stretched before him in its full, grim majesty. Once a vibrant blue world, it had long since been stripped of its natural beauty. The oceans had dried, the land scarred beyond recognition. Now, all that remained was an endless expanse of towering hive cities, stacked one upon another like mountains, a testament to the might and burden of the Imperium.
As the Throne World, Terra radiated an ethereal glow, its sky laced with the golden luminescence of the Astronomican. Gargantuan statues of the Emperor stood sentinel over the world, piercing the thick smog of pollution. Spires of the great spaceports thrust into the void, where the ceaseless dance of voidcraft played out. Orbital platforms, Ecclesiarchy preachers, automated defense batteries, and millions of transport vessels moved in coordinated chaos. Each ship that passed near the expeditionary fleet did so with a marked deference, their captains wary of attracting undue attention.
More than one hundred billion souls inhabited this sacred world, yet not a single grain of food was produced upon its surface. Every meal depended on off-world shipments, and the slightest disruption in supply lines spelled famine for millions. Terra was not just a planet—it was a machine of governance, faith, and war, fueled by the toil of uncountable lives.
Beneath the surface, the world was hollowed out, its bedrock replaced with steel and ceramite. The Imperium had long since reshaped the very bones of Terra, its subterranean depths a labyrinth of tunnels, catacombs, and manufactoria.
At its heart stood the Imperial Palace, sprawling across the Himalayan plateau, consuming an entire continental plate. To cross it on foot would take a decade, a scale beyond mortal comprehension. This was the core of the Imperium, the seat of the God-Emperor, and the holiest place in all of human space.
The expeditionary fleet had transmitted their arrival via astropathic relay, yet the manner of their approach set the entire planet on edge. The sudden emergence of a Primarch above Terra, his arrival heralded by an explosion of golden radiance, was an event no one could ignore.
…
Every eye among the Imperial Navy and the defense forces was trained on the fleet. The memory of past calamities lingered—during the War of the Beast, an Ork war moon had nearly reduced Terra to ruin due to a moment's hesitation. Since then, the defenders of the Throne World had sworn never to be caught off guard again.
The High Lords of Terra convened within the chambers of the Senatorum Imperialis. This twelve-member council, alongside their lesser nobles and advisors, ruled in the Emperor's name.
High Lord Barendo gazed skyward, where the golden light still lingered in the atmosphere. Though it should have been a symbol of Imperial glory, it filled him only with unease.
He hastened to the Speaker of the High Lords, carried by a palanquin borne aloft by dozens of slaves. The rotund Speaker received him with a genial smile.
"Barendo, we all serve His Majesty," the Speaker chuckled. "There is no need for such formalities."
Barendo offered only the briefest nod before speaking, his voice edged with concern. "Lord Speaker, a Primarch does not return to Terra in such a fashion merely to pay homage to the Emperor."
The Speaker's expression darkened. They both knew the precarious balance of power within the Imperium. Though the High Lords ruled in the Emperor's name, they were ever wary of the demigods of legend.
If the Emperor was divine authority made manifest, the Primarchs were feudal kings, wielding real power over their legions and domains. The return of one of their kind threatened to upend the status quo.
"Compared to the restrained demeanor of the Lion and Guilliman, the Second Son's arrival is... concerning," Barendo continued. "He has a history of executing planetary governors during the Dark Crusade. It is clear he does not intend to simply coexist with us."
The Speaker exhaled slowly. "Perhaps. But it is not our place to dictate his actions. We must simply wait."
Barendo hesitated. "And the Inquisition? Will they act?"
"Of course." The Speaker's grin returned, sharp as a knife. "The Inquisition has long held grievances against this Primarch. His exile was no mere footnote, and his history of disregarding Imperial authorities has not been forgotten."
…
The Inquisition, the Imperium's secret police, was a force feared even by the High Lords themselves. They oversaw every aspect of the Imperium, conducting purges, trials, and exterminations without oversight. No institution, no matter how powerful, was beyond their reach.
It was said that an Inquisitor once demanded the Emperor's own Custodians answer to him.
And the Second Primarch had drawn their ire.
The reawakening of the Primarchs unsettled the Inquisition. Though the Emperor had never explicitly forbidden investigations into his sons, few dared to do so. Each Primarch commanded vast armies, and to challenge them was akin to a clerk questioning a warlord.
Yet Dukel was different.
Unlike Guilliman or the Lion, whose authority was firmly acknowledged, the Second Primarch had no official standing within the Imperium. His name was absent from official records. His statue, once standing in the Imperial Palace, had long since been torn down.
The Inquisition saw opportunity.
The Speaker's eyes gleamed with amusement. "The Inquisition has spent millennia burying this particular secret. If they wish to preserve their authority, they must act. And if the Primarch wishes to be recognized by Terra, he must act as well. Tell me, Barendo—who do you think will yield first?"
Barendo's face was grim. "Neither will back down."
"Good," the Speaker said, his smile widening. "Let the conflict grow. Send an anonymous report to the Inquisition. Accuse the Second Primarch of consorting with xenos. Provide irrefutable evidence."
Beneath the surface of Terra, the undercurrents of power surged. The return of a demigod had thrown the balance into turmoil. Factions stirred, alliances shifted, and unseen knives were drawn in the shadows.
"We shall see how this plays out," the Speaker murmured. "If the Inquisition falters, we shall aid the Primarch in weakening their hold over the Imperium. And if the Primarch stumbles, we shall lend our support to the Inquisition."
He turned to gaze at the golden sky. "One way or another, the Imperium will endure."
…
In the halls of the Imperial Palace, the Lion and Guilliman watched the heavens, where the Second Primarch's arrival had illuminated the void.
"Guilliman," the Lion said, his voice even, "what will Dukel do first upon his return? Will he execute those who conspire against him?"
Guilliman exhaled, a knowing look in his eyes.
"No," he said. "He will prove his identity to the Imperium first."
And in the depths of Terra, the pieces moved on the board, setting the stage for a conflict that would shake the Throne World to its core.
Guilliman shook his head once more, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern.
"Then what do you think he will do?" asked the Lion, his voice laced with confusion.
Guilliman did not respond immediately. Instead, he raised a gauntleted hand, pointing towards the golden radiance streaking across the sky. His tone was almost resigned as he explained, "When that banner is raised, it signifies that Dukel comes with a vow of absolute victory. If his adversaries were mere mortals, he wouldn't need to go to such lengths."
The Lion furrowed his brow. "Are you suggesting..."
"If my reasoning is correct, he is no longer aboard the Inner Fire." Guilliman's voice was firm, almost grim. "No matter how much mortals plot and maneuver, they will never fully grasp the magnitude of our brother's power. It exists beyond their comprehension, beyond the very limits of mortal understanding."
The realization struck the Lion like a thunderclap. His eyes widened in alarm, turning instinctively toward the direction of the Golden Throne. "You mean—"
"Yes," Guilliman confirmed without hesitation. "He has gone straight to our father."
A heavy silence hung between them before Guilliman finally added, "We can only hope this does not escalate further."
The Lion exhaled slowly, his gaze darkening. "Dukel's urgency to see the Emperor means His condition is dire," he said, his voice heavy with meaning. "And our brothers... they do not seem to hold much confidence."
A chill crept into Guilliman's heart, an emotion unfamiliar to the indomitable Primarch of the Ultramarines.
Terra – An Undisclosed Chamber Beneath the Hall of the Inquisition
In the shadowed depths of Terra, the Grand Master of the Inquisition conferred in hushed tones with one of his most trusted subordinates, a senior Grand Inquisitor.
"Grand Master, the identity of the Second Primarch has not yet been formally authenticated," the Inquisitor noted. "Should we seize this opportunity?"
The Grand Inquisitor's eyes gleamed with ambition. "Once he is officially recognized, it will become far more difficult to act against him. But as long as his statue has not been restored in the Imperial Palace, his legitimacy remains in question. With your command, I will ensure he faces resistance at every turn. He will find no safe footing within the sacred halls of Terra."
The Grand Master sat in contemplative silence, then finally asked, "Can you eliminate him?"
The Grand Inquisitor stiffened. Me? His confidence wavered.
To obstruct the Second Primarch? Certainly. But to execute a son of the Emperor? To strike down a Primarch beneath the very Throne of the Master of Mankind?
He swallowed and forced himself to answer, "Grand Master, that is beyond my capability. All I can do is frustrate his ambitions, humble his pride."
The Grand Master sighed. "If an act does not bring death but only fuels resentment, what purpose does it serve?"
The Inquisitor did not back down. "But, Grand Master, the Second Primarch has made his return known across the entire Sol System. He will not rest easily beside us. The purity of the Inquisition must be upheld. Shall we allow its authority to fade into irrelevance?"
Again, the Grand Master remained silent.
For centuries, the Inquisition had wielded unchallenged dominion over the Imperium, ensuring that all remained under its scrutiny. But now, with the Primarchs reemerging from legend, the tides of power were shifting. These demigods of war commanded entire battlefleets, ruled vast dominions, and operated beyond the reach of mortal authority. Though the Inquisition still claimed to oversee them, in practice, their influence was waning.
The Second Primarch was an immediate threat to that status quo.
"We have received an anonymous complaint from within the Senatorum Imperialis," the Grand Inquisitor pressed. "It claims the Second Primarch is consorting with xenos. We can use this as a pretext. You are far too occupied to handle this personally, Grand Master. Allow me to act in your stead. I will remind this so-called Primarch of the Inquisition's sanctity."
The Grand Master leaned back, fingers steepled, his thoughts concealed behind an unreadable expression.
"Grand Master, the High Lords may have their own motives," the Inquisitor continued, "but the choice is clear. Unless you are willing to let the justice of the Inquisition be set aside."
A long pause followed before the Grand Master slowly nodded. "Proceed. Let the Primarchs understand that the Inquisition derives its holiness from the Emperor himself."
The Grand Inquisitor's eyes glimmered with satisfaction. "Worry not, Grand Master. I will not fail you. I will see to it that the Second Primarch receives a fitting... welcome."
Dukel – In Orbit Above Terra
Dukel remained utterly indifferent to the machinations unfolding against him. He neither sought nor feared the approval of others.
At this moment, his expeditionary fleet still held position in high orbit, awaiting the necessary clearance from the Administratum. It was an unavoidable procedure. Every year, countless millions of pilgrims sought entry to the Throneworld, only to be denied at the edge of its starports.
Even with expedited authorization for a Primarch, the bureaucratic wheels of the Adeptus Terra would grind at their usual agonizing pace—at least a week.
Of course, rules were for those who chose to follow them.
Dukel had no such inclinations.
He had already arrived at the very heart of the Imperial Palace, standing before the immense adamantium and ceramite gates of the Eternity Gate itself.
Guilliman had been right. Mortal minds could scheme endlessly, but they could never fathom the sheer power he possessed. If he willed it, he could manifest himself anywhere on Terra—even upon the very steps of the Golden Throne.
Now, he was closer than ever. The immeasurable distance between himself and the Emperor had been reduced to nothing but a threshold.
As he stood before the towering gates, his psychic senses reached beyond the barriers of reality itself, touching the festering darkness pooling deep within the Palace. The corruption was thick, its presence suffocating. The Emperor's condition teetered on the precipice of catastrophe.
Even Asha, standing beside him, sensed the suffocating weight of it. The Eldar goddess of life, wrapped completely in towering war-plate, trembled despite herself.
Dukel had chosen discretion for this visit—only Asha accompanied him. Not even Magnus's severed head, a symbol of future utility, remained with him; he had entrusted it to Efilarn for safekeeping.
Standing at nearly five meters tall, clad in ornate war-plate, Dukel cast an imposing figure before the Eternity Gate. Beside him, Asha, armored and nearly four meters in height, was no less striking.
Their mere presence sent a ripple through the throng of pilgrims gathered before the gate. A murmur of awe and fear spread through the crowd, threatening to erupt into chaos.
Then, with a mere exertion of psychic dominance, Dukel imposed his will upon reality itself. The disturbance faded. Minds bent, perception blurred, and the masses resumed their worship, oblivious to the two giants in their midst.
Asha's voice, now stripped of its usual clarity, echoed from beneath her helm. "My lord, what now?"
Dukel's cloak billowed in the air as he gazed upon the massive gates before him.
"We wait." His voice was steady, certain. "The moment I raised the Skyhawk Banner, the Emperor would have taken notice. Soon, someone will come through that gate to meet us."