"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." The battle-worn veteran, a soldier of ten thousand battles, wept.
"Forgive us, Warmaster. We have lost everything. Please, forgive us."
Lost in his own world, consumed by chaotic memories and sorrow long buried in his heart, he could not perceive the present moment. The overwhelming presence of a living Primarch, the weight of past glories and failures, broke him. Powerless, he collapsed to the ground.
Dukel stepped forward and gently lifted the warrior.
Though he could not determine the full truth of the veteran's words, the raw sadness and exhaustion radiating from his soul were unmistakable.
This was a warrior worthy of respect. Dukel, son of the Emperor, would not allow him to lie in disgrace.
"Your Highness..." Yoel stepped forward, his voice pleading. "Great demigod, please forgive our ancestor. He meant no offense. He just—"
Among the Blood Angels, veterans of countless battles were called "Ancestors," a title of reverence well earned.
Before Yoel could finish, Dukel raised a hand, silencing him. The Primarch's voice was deep, filled with a complex, unreadable emotion.
"Do not be so anxious, Lord of the Blood Knights. He is a noble warrior, a son of Sanguinius, my brother," Dukel said. "But he is also a child of misfortune, burdened with too much suffering. Take him away, let him rest. His body and spirit are wounded beyond endurance."
Dukel returned the fallen warrior to Yoel and commanded, "When he wakes, tell him this: He has fought well. He requires no forgiveness, for he has done no wrong."
"Yes, Your Highness." Yoel's eyes glistened. "With your mercy, he may finally find peace."
A Dreadnought entombed for millennia, the veteran had long surpassed the limits of mortality. He had endured too many wars, seen too many die, and bore too many secrets.
Compared to him, Yoel was but a neophyte. Though he could not fully grasp the depths of the Ancestor's pain, he understood one thing—his Primarch's recognition was a salvation the warrior had long yearned for.
Dukel turned his gaze toward Efilar and handed her the Fate Eagle Banner.
"Take this banner, Sister. The Tyranids will soon launch their counterattack. I sense this assault will be of unprecedented scale."
As if in answer, the ground of Baal Secundus trembled violently. A storm was coming.
"Your will guides me, my Lord."
Efilar took the massive banner, over twenty meters tall, still bearing the corpse of the slain daemon. Soul-fire erupted behind the Battle Sister, forming wings of burning light that stretched across the battlefield. The luminous glow of the banner, powered by her unwavering spirit, did not dim in her grasp.
"Once battle begins, maintain distance from the Blood Angels. Their fury is a dangerous force. Though my psychic abilities can suppress the Black Rage for a time, the longer the battle lasts, the weaker that suppression will become. Beware of accidental harm."
Dukel conveyed this warning not aloud, but through the psychic network. He would not insult his Blood Angel kin before their warriors.
Even before arriving at Baal, he had encountered Blood Angels lost to the Black Rage. He had discovered that his psychic might could temporarily subdue their madness—but only temporarily. The flaw in Sanguinius' gene-seed could not be healed by mind alone.
A chorus of acknowledgments rippled through the telepathic link. The Doom Soldiers drew their black-edged power swords in silent readiness.
The scent of blood thickened in the air.
"The swarm is coming!"
All eyes turned to the horizon. A living tide of Tyranids surged forth, an endless wave blotting out both earth and sky. They swarmed over the land like an apocalyptic storm, a nightmare given form.
Ripples in the seething mass revealed colossal figures—Hive Tyrants, Tyranid Warriors, and, looming in the distance, a monstrous Bio-Titan.
Magnus' voice echoed in Dukel's mind.
"Dukel, I warned you! The Tyranids are not fools. The moment you announced your arrival to the galaxy, they adapted. They've gathered enough strength to utterly annihilate you."
"So what?" Dukel's voice was cold, fearless. "I regret nothing. By doing this, I see the Blood Angels as they are—not feral beasts lost to madness, but warriors of the Emperor. I would make the same choice a thousand times over."
The Tyranid tide surged forward. Before the Imperial forces had even fully emerged from the Warp, the Hive Mind had foreseen the Primarch's arrival. Its forces moved with grim inevitability, erasing everything in their path. Cities fell, their ruins swallowed whole in moments.
"Warriors! This is our moment of glory!" Dukel roared, wielding a Blade of Pain in each hand as he charged straight into the Tyranid swarm. "Come, insects!"
Flames erupted in the darkness. The Primarch's cry cut through the screeches of a million xenos.
The Blood Knights and Flesh Tearers, retreating to the inner defenses, froze in shock.
"Is this—?"
A terrible familiarity struck them. The image of their Primarch throwing himself headlong into battle was too close to the memories of their fallen father, Sanguinius, and the warriors lost to the Black Rage.
Sadness swept through them. But Yoel clenched his fists, eyes burning red.
"The demigod sacrifices himself to shield us, just as the Holy Father once did."
"May the blood of Sanguinius be honored!"
With renewed fervor, the Blood Angels bellowed war cries and surged forward, following their Primarch into the Tyranid horde.
The battle erupted in earnest. Lasgun fire lanced into the swarm. Artillery thundered, flames roared, and the battlefield became a furnace of war.
In the heart of the chaos, Efilar raised the Fate Eagle Banner high.
"In the name of Dukel!"
Golden light burst forth, piercing the darkness.
Above, the orbital bombardment struck down a massive Tyranid creature, a towering node of the Hive Mind. Yet it was unlike any the Imperium had faced before—an abomination woven together from countless lesser Tyranids, its form shifting and reshaping, as if the Hive Mind had sculpted it for this very battle.
"Disgusting xenos!" Efilar swung the banner, shattering another Tyranid monstrosity in a burst of gore.
Then, a monstrous roar echoed across the battlefield.
A colossal Tyranid, nearly a hundred meters long, rose from the swarm. Its very presence twisted reality, exuding the oppressive psychic force of the Hive Mind itself.
Magnus' voice crackled with urgency.
"Dukel! This is more than just a biological weapon. This is the Hive Mind's will made manifest!"
Dukel grimaced. "If that thing reaches our defenses, the Blood Angels and our mortal soldiers will be torn apart. We must slay it first!"
Magnus fell silent.
Dukel turned to him. "Brother, why are you quiet? Is silence truly in your nature? Will you stand by and let these angels die?"
Magnus sighed through gritted teeth. "Dukel, my advice? Act like a human for once!"
Dukel laughed, lifting Magnus' severed head from his belt, psychic energy crackling. "No time for lectures, brother. Now—teleport me!"
Amid the Primarch's laughter and guided by his immense psychic might, Magnus began constructing a psychic teleportation array—without even consciously willing it.
One after another, glowing runes manifested in the air, drifting like spectral wisps beneath the radiance of the warp-forged energies.
"Buzz!—"
Fueled by Magnus's prodigious psychic power, the arcane circle materialized in mere seconds, its formation unhindered by the oppressive shadow of the Tyranid swarm.
Dukel's vision flickered for a moment, and then—suddenly—a monstrous Tyranid organism, nearly a hundred meters long and massive as an armored train, emerged before him.
At this moment, the towering bioform was still directing the swarm, orchestrating the onslaught with the terrifying will of the Hive Mind.
If this abomination were allowed to breach the defensive lines, the Tyranid tide would tear through everything in an unstoppable deluge of chitin and claw.
"Magnus, my brother, once again, you prove invaluable!"
"M@#erf@#er—"
Magnus, his crimson skin flushed an even deeper shade, broke into an utterly inappropriate and nonsensical chant—more a scholar than a warrior, even in the thick of battle.
His absurd performance was swiftly silenced by two swift blows to the head, after which he found himself unceremoniously hoisted by the waist once more.
Dukel turned his attention back to the behemoth before him, his gaze hard as ceramite.
"Now, beast… face me!"
"Hiss!—"
The embodiment of the Hive Mind screeched in response.
It had sensed the arrival of the Primarch. It knew—despite its vast size—that escape was impossible. Its only option was to fight.
The monstrous bioform surged forward, its sheer bulk like a living fortress, an overwhelming tide of chitin and hunger crashing down upon the son of the Emperor.
…
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