Following the route laid out by the star charts, the next destination of the Xika System was already within the outer reaches of the Baal Sector. The tendrils of the Leviathan Hive Fleet had begun encroaching upon Baal's domain. Dukel was eager to depart from Xika and join the frontline battles against the Tyranid menace—but due to the infestation of Genestealer cultists, he was forced to linger in the system.
While the Imperial Expeditionary Force was conducting cleansing operations within the Xika System, Dukel, as per protocol, issued a call to arms for the local planetary defense forces.
Despite the relatively minor significance of the Xika System in the grand scale of the Imperium, it housed multiple Imperial worlds. The assistance of local governance and vast numbers of Astra Militarum regiments was essential. Even with the full strength of his expeditionary fleet, Dukel's forces alone could not purge the taint of heresy and xenos infestation across multiple worlds.
However, Dukel did not anticipate resistance to his summons. The planetary lords outwardly obeyed his commands while subtly obstructing them. Hours passed, yet no regiments mobilized.
This was unprecedented. Even without considering his status as a Primarch, Dukel's actions were righteous. Wherever his expeditionary force had secured victory, planetary governors had responded with fervor, their forces eagerly rallying to his call. Yet here, in this world, defiance festered.
What treachery was this? Did these lords court destruction?
Dukel's brow furrowed as he sought an answer.
Within the grand chamber of the Xika High Council, a heated debate raged.
"Governor, esteemed senators, why do you defy the will of His Highness Dukel? Do you seek to commit treason?" an officer of the Planetary Defense Forces demanded coldly.
"Colonel, you overstep your bounds! This is a matter for the ruling council!" the planetary governor snapped. "We act in accordance with the Lex Imperialis. No one, not even a Primarch, is above the sacred laws of the Imperium!"
"Yes, we merely uphold due process," another official chimed in.
"The situation does not yet warrant full military deployment."
"I am certain His Highness will understand our prudence."
The ruling elite spoke with self-righteous confidence. Yet their arguments rang hollow.
The officers of the defense forces trembled with fury. Lips curled in frustration.
"The fires of war consume Xika, cultists run rampant, and with every moment you delay, countless Imperial citizens perish!" one officer bellowed. "You reside in gilded palaces, untouched by the suffering of the common folk. Do you feel no shame? No fear of the Emperor's judgment?"
To the military officers, this was either the work of cowards—or worse, traitors.
Yet the governor remained resolute, his gaze unwavering. "The xenos and heretics are not our doing. We abide by the law. No one has the right to judge us."
"You—!" The officer clenched his fists, about to press the issue further when—
BOOM!
An explosive round detonated. The governor's head erupted in a crimson mist, chunks of brain and bone splattering across the chamber.
"What is there to understand?" a deep voice rumbled.
A colossal figure strode into the chamber. Towering nearly thrice the height of an ordinary man, clad in bloodstained ceramite, exuding an aura of sheer dominance.
All present felt their breath catch in their throats. The pressure was suffocating.
Dukel's piercing gaze swept the room, finally settling on the governor's corpse.
"What heresy is this? A xenos-tainted mutant seated among the Imperium's rulers?"
The officers hesitantly approached the fallen governor. Upon closer inspection, the pooling blood was tinged with a sickly green hue. Rolling up the corpse's sleeve, the truth was revealed—his flesh was mottled purple, marred with unnatural growths.
Dukel had seen through the deception in an instant. His superhuman senses discerned corruption no mortal eye could detect.
"I suspect this entire chamber has been infiltrated by the Genestealer Cult."
As Dukel's voice fell, the unmistakable sound of bolters being readied echoed through the hall. His elite warriors, the Slayers, raised their weapons, their intent clear.
Murderous resolve burned in Dukel's eyes.
Compared to the vast Tyranid swarms, the insidious nature of Genestealer infiltration was even more loathsome.
Like vermin infesting the Imperium's very foundations, these xenos-tainted creatures had no place in the Emperor's domain.
The purge began immediately.
Entire noble families were rounded up and executed. Anyone even suspected of harboring Genestealer taint was condemned without trial.
Ecclesiarchs rallied the faithful, interrogating citizens about their knowledge of heretical sects. Anyone who had heard whispers of the so-called Four-Armed Emperor was seized. Informants were encouraged to report suspected heretics.
Preacher-servitors soared through the streets, broadcasting sermons that denounced the corruption. Purity inspections escalated into mass executions. Entire city districts were razed.
Dukel observed the slaughter firsthand. Men, women, and even children were lined up and incinerated en masse. Such was the only way to ensure the xenos filth was eradicated utterly.
"Your Highness, isn't this excessive?" a trembling aide asked. "These are children… Surely some could be spared?"
Dukel's gaze was like cold steel. "A moment's mercy today will damn a world tomorrow. When the Imperium decrees this world Exterminatus, will your kindness pay its price?"
The purge left rivers of blood running through Xika. Only once it was certain that no heretic remained did the campaign conclude.
The Imperium had triumphed once more—not only against the servants of Khorne and the Tyranid advance, but also against the insidious treachery that festered within its own ranks.
Yet no one celebrated. The taste of victory was bitter.
The great fleet turned its course.
Next destination—Baal.
The Baal System was engulfed in unending war. The Blood Angels, led by Dante himself, stood resolute against the Leviathan Swarm.
The battlefield was a wasteland of shattered war machines and charred Tyranid corpses. The sky burned with constant bombardment. Blood Angels and their successors, nearly thirty thousand strong, fought to defend their homeworld.
The Hive Mind's assault was relentless. Leviathan abandoned all pretense of strategy—attacking ceaselessly, heedless of losses.
Yet amidst the chaos, a new presence emerged.
"Lord Dante," an astropath's voice crackled through the vox. "An Imperial fleet is approaching."
"Identify them!"
"The shadow of the Warp obscures our vision… But the fleet is vast—beyond anything I have ever seen."
Dante's frown deepened. "How large?"
The astropath's voice wavered. "Lord Dante, I must be seeing an illusion. This fleet bears the Imperial Aquila—but it is not the Aquila! This is the sigil of Carlos! Emperor preserve us!"
A stunned silence followed.
Dante narrowed his eyes. "What in the Emperor's name is happening?"
…
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