2nd Primarch

There are reinforcements!

The Space Marines were stunned at first. But as they took a closer look at Dukel's face, their first reaction was...

Why isn't this guy wearing a helmet?

The Codex Astartes mandates that soldiers must wear helmets on the battlefield. Those who fail to do so can even face severe military punishment.

Of course, it's worth noting that almost all famous figures in the Warhammer 40k universe seem to have a curious aversion to helmets. Even Guilliman, the Primarch who authored this very rule, is rarely seen wearing one.

But one pressing question remained: Why was there only one reinforcement?

The enemy wasn't a mere rabble—it was a legion of World Eaters, led by a Khorne Champion, most of whom had ascended to daemonhood.

However, as the Space Marines studied the stranger's tall, imposing frame and unique power armor, an unthinkable thought crossed their minds. Could this lone warrior be the Emperor's son himself?

The idea wasn't entirely without basis. Reports over the Legion's vox-channel had spoken of an expeditionary force led by none other than a Primarch.

"Are you His Highness, the Primarch?" the lead Space Marine captain asked hesitantly. "If so, let us retreat together."

"If we take turns covering each other, we can slow the daemons' pursuit and regroup at the defensive line."

Whether or not this was truly the Primarch, protocol dictated that any reinforcements be incorporated into a retreat strategy. After all, the Imperial forces would likely have established a defensive line no more than 100 kilometers to the rear.

But Dukel merely raised a hand dismissively and smiled.

"You retreat first," he said casually. "I'll stay behind and cover you."

The Space Marines exchanged uneasy glances.

"Are you sure you intend to buy us time alone?" the captain asked again, his voice tinged with doubt.

"That's right. Just fall back to the defensive line and prepare to regroup," Dukel replied, his attention already fixed on the approaching tide of Khorne daemons. His expression was a curious mix of anticipation and... excitement.

After a moment of hesitation, the captain nodded. He gave the signal to his team, and the Space Marines began their retreat.

But they didn't go far. Instead, they stopped about a kilometer away, taking up hidden positions to rest and observe.

If this truly was a Primarch, leaving him to face an entire legion alone seemed unthinkable. They couldn't risk being branded as the greatest sinners in Imperial history.

On the Battlefield

To mortals, the Primarchs are demigods—larger-than-life figures, each with their unique quirks.

To the Space Marines, Dukel was a quiet, brooding figure, not known for idle chatter.

To the common citizens of the Imperium, he was the Emperor's second son—a reclusive scholar who preferred meditation to public appearances.

But on the battlefield, Dukel was a different man entirely: a firestorm of passion and fury.

The Second Primarch bore a peculiar gift, absorbing humanity's most extreme emotions—chiefly their hatred for heretics and xenos. This gift was both his strength and his curse.

In the past, these emotions had overwhelmed him, driving him to the brink of madness. But with the aid of the Heart Network, Dukel had found a way to suppress them.

Yet those emotions simmered beneath the surface, like magma trapped beneath a crust of stone. And when the opportunity for combat arose, they erupted in a terrifying display of power.

"Come on!" Dukel roared, a wild grin spreading across his face. "Let's get started!"

This was his first mission since awakening in this dark age of the Imperium, and he intended to enjoy every moment.

With a deafening BOOM, he launched himself into the air like a living cannonball. When he landed, the earth shattered beneath him, sending shockwaves rippling outward. Several Khorne daemons were flung into the air, caught off guard by the sheer force of his impact.

Dukel wasted no time. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with the chest of a snarling daemon and tearing straight through.

The air grew thick with heat as psychic flames erupted from Dukel's eyes and mouth.

Blessing: Breath of Fire.

The flames roared like a dragon's breath, incinerating everything in their path. A dozen World Eaters were caught in the inferno, their power armor melting away to reveal shriveled, mummified remains.

The remaining daemons hesitated, uncertainty flickering in their blood-crazed eyes.

"What are you waiting for?" Dukel bellowed, pounding his chest. "Come and get me!"

Chaos and Confusion

The Khorne daemons were at a loss.

This human didn't dodge their attacks. He didn't retreat. He charged headlong into their ranks with reckless abandon, taunting them at every turn.

"Is that all you've got, heretic?!"

"Fight back, you worthless cowards!"

"Are you sure you're Khorne's chosen? You're softer than a damn Nurgling!"

His relentless provocations left the daemons bewildered.

"Who the hell is this guy?" one of them muttered.

"He's not normal," another growled.

Their confusion was understandable. Dukel's tactics were... unconventional, to say the least. His taunts and brutal hand-to-hand combat defied every expectation.

For the first time in their unholy existence, the daemons of Khorne were unsettled.

But Dukel didn't care. His mission was simple: either they would kill him, or he would kill them all.

And right now, he was having the time of his life.