"Careful!"
"Protect the Primarch!"
The barbed tip of the whip lashed out with venomous speed, striking toward the Primarch before the sound of its movement even reached the ears of those present.
Yet Dukel's reflexes were sharper. He swiftly evaded the lethal strike, his gaze locking onto the being that had dared to attack him.
"After only a few years apart, have you resorted to skulking in the shadows like a vermin?"
His sneer was met with an even more frenzied assault. The whip lashed wildly, a storm of barbs striking at him like a fisherman casting a net of hooks.
Faced with the relentless onslaught, Dukel ceased dodging. Instead, he struck with precision, each punch intercepting the whip mid-air. The collision of force and steel sent concussive blasts through the battlefield, forcing mortal soldiers to cover their ears against the deafening shockwaves.
Buzz!
After an intense exchange, the blood-red whip suddenly snapped taut and withdrew. The whip shadows vanished, revealing the elongated steel cable connecting the combatants across the battlefield. At the other end stood a hulking, crimson-clad figure, exuding an aura of pure rage.
"Dukel, your strength has waned. This time, you will fall!"
Curved horns adorned his head, his face bestial, akin to a monstrous simian, and vast bat-like wings unfurled in wrath. Bathed in the favor of the Blood God, Ka'Bandha emerged from the shattered remains of a ruined mountain.
His eyes burned with hate. In his left hand, he held the coiled blood-whip; in his right, a colossal battle-axe.
"Weakened?"
Dukel stood unmoving as rain cascaded over the battlefield. His previous blows had split the earth, rending deep fissures a hundred meters wide—gaping wounds in the planet's surface.
"Such power in the Materium carries a price. Your weapon is shattered. You stand unarmed, unable to resist."
"Dukel!"
Ka'Bandha's roar reverberated across the battlefield, thick with unbridled fury. He had suffered a grievous defeat at the hands of the Primarch before, forced into dormancy to recover from the wounds inflicted upon him.
"I have watched you closely. You are at your lowest ebb, weaker even than when you first awoke."
Though his challenge carried the fury of Khorne, even Ka'Bandha could not deny the dishonor of attacking a wounded foe. Yet, the Blood God had not punished him for this act. Instead, He had granted Ka'Bandha greater blessings.
Was it enough to entertain the Blood God merely to challenge Dukel?
Was I so weak in His eyes?
"I will cleanse my disgrace with your blood! Your skull will adorn the Brass Throne!"
Whoosh!
The whip struck again, a crimson shadow slicing through the rain. The whip and axe were Ka'Bandha's signature weapons, tools of slaughter he had used to slay hundreds of Blood Angels ten millennia ago.
This time, Dukel did not evade. He extended his hand, crushing the whip in his gauntleted fist.
With a sudden wrenching motion, he pulled. An overwhelming force surged through the battlefield. Ka'Bandha, a behemoth standing like a mountain, was ripped from the ground and hurled forward.
The Primarch's right fist clenched. His arm drew back like a taut bowstring before striking.
Bang!
The blow shattered Ka'Bandha's eye socket, sending him rocketing backward like a cannon shell. Dukel pursued relentlessly. The Daemon beat his wings to stabilize himself, but the Primarch seized him mid-air.
With a sickening crack, one massive bat-wing snapped, exposing raw bone beneath the ruined flesh.
Boom!
The Bloodthirster crashed into the ground, forming a massive crater. He emerged from the rubble, his once-mighty form reduced to a broken husk. Corrupted ichor gushed forth, pooling into a crimson lake at his feet.
"Is this all you have left? Can you still rise?"
Dukel was no braggart. His words carried no mockery—only the cold statement of truth.
"I may be weaker than before, but that does not mean you have grown stronger, Ka'Bandha."
The Daemon spat black blood in defiance but could not summon a response.
Meanwhile, Dante's Thunderhawk touched down upon Baal. Mephiston, the Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels, accompanied him.
"Dante, I understand your urgency in seeking to save our Holy Father. But to arrive without warning, after such a war—does this not seem discourteous?"
Even as the only Blood Angel to have conquered the Black Rage, Mephiston was but a mortal before the demigod they sought.
"It should be fine," Dante mused. "He crossed the stars to safeguard our Holy Father's remains. Such an act speaks to his honor and duty. He cannot be a tyrant."
He continued, "The Regent has spoken of the Second Primarch as a scholar among demigods, one devoted to meditation and wisdom. The weapons against the Tyranids and the methods to save Sanguinius are his creations. Would such a mind be angered by our haste?"
"I hope you are right," Mephiston muttered, exhaling slowly.
A thunderous bellow suddenly shook the air.
"DUKEL!"
The sound was unmistakable—Ka'Bandha. The daemon who had hunted the Blood Angels for millennia.
"What's happening? Is the Primarch locked in battle?!" Dante's concern deepened. Dukel was the last hope for Sanguinius' resurrection. He could not fall here.
The fighter's systems locked onto the source. The holoprojector displayed the battlefield.
Hahahaha!
A towering, black-haired warrior clad in power armor laughed amidst the rain of blood.
Dukel lifted Ka'Bandha's battered body above his head. No amount of struggling or curses from the daemon could break his grip.
In an instant, Crack!
Ka'Bandha was torn in half, his ruined remains discarded upon the ground like refuse.
Dante and Mephiston sat in stunned silence.
"That… is His Highness Dukel?!"
"Yes," Dante confirmed.
Mephiston's lips trembled. "Perhaps we should leave."
But Dante remained still. The moments stretched unbearably.
Then, he spoke.
"We cannot."
Mephiston turned to him. On the holoscreen, Dukel stood in the crimson downpour, his gaze lifted toward them, his victorious grin still etched upon his face.
Moments later, passing through layers of security, Dante and Mephiston finally stood before the Primarch.
All trepidation vanished. In its place, a fire ignited within them—an unbreakable will, an indomitable spirit.
This Primarch's soul burned like a star.
"Your Highness, is it true? Have you discovered a way to restore Sanguinius?"
Dukel's expression grew serious. "It is possible. His soul is fragmented, but not utterly lost. If we recover enough remnants, we can awaken him. However, the probability is low."
"What is the chance?" Mephiston asked, voice tight with anticipation.
"22.2%."
After hearing the Primarch's answer, Dante and Mephiston did not show disappointment. On the contrary, they exchanged glances, seeing irrepressible ecstasy in each other's eyes.
This probability far exceeded their expectations.
Even a one-percent chance of saving Sanguinius was enough to ignite their hope.
"Your Highness, please return with us to Baal!"
"Not yet. The war is not over," Dukel replied in a deep voice. At the same time, the Doom Slayer handed him two brand-new Blades of Perdition.
"But, my lord, the battle is won. The tendrils of Leviathan have retreated."
"Retreat is not enough, boy." Dukel took the blades from the Slayer, securing them before continuing. "The xenos should remain in the dark recesses of the void, not dare to extend their tendrils to trouble the Imperium. I will drive them back to the abyss where they belong!"
"Your Highness, I understand." Dante nodded solemnly. "But please rest, if only for a short while. There is no need for you to take unnecessary risks. We will see your will done and purge the Tyranids."
Even if Dukel could not save Sanguinius, he would still make this choice. For an Imperium drowning in darkness, every Primarch was a priceless beacon—not only for their godlike power and wisdom but also because they embodied hope.
In Dante's mind, hunting the remnants of Leviathan was not worth the risk of a Primarch.
"Rest?" Dukel let out a dry chuckle, clapping Dante on the shoulder. "Child, you should rest. I do not tire."
At that moment, the expeditionary force completed their preparations for departure.
Seeing that the Primarch would not be swayed, Dante and Mephiston exchanged a glance before making their decision.
"Then let us fight alongside you!"
They spoke as one.
Dukel did not refuse.
Chasing the Tyranids was no simple task. While they could not travel through the Immaterium as the forces of Chaos did, they moved through realspace at superluminal speeds, defying the known laws of physics.
Even light struggled to track their precise trajectory. Their movements could only be anticipated based on prior patterns and swarm behavior.
However, this time, the pursuit was less arduous.
The Ork horde under Bonecrusher Saraka had already reached the outskirts of the Baal System. Before Leviathan's arrival, these war-hungry greenskins had launched a savage assault, grappling onto the Tyranid vanguard and pinning down the swarm's main forces.
The expeditionary fleet breached realspace, entering the warp for a short-distance jump.
Within his command chamber, Dukel sat, his gaze fixed on a soul-imbued essence—one attuned to 'Dugo'—allowing him to observe the raging battle between the Orks and the remnants of Leviathan.
...
T.N: I don't know what 'Dugo' is? Probably the Warp?
...
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