2nd Primarch

Skarbrand was once among the most favored daemons of the Blood God. He slaughtered countless lives, ravaged innumerable worlds, and even trampled upon the domains of the other Chaos Gods. He destroyed the First Palace of Slaanesh and killed Nurgle's Plague Leviathan—until he was bewitched by Tzeentch and, taking advantage of Khorne's inattention, struck the Blood God himself with an axe.

In the lost, dark world, red flames burned endlessly.

Dukel, still swinging his chainsword, suddenly received a message through the mind network.

"Your Highness, we have located the Regent's fleet. They are searching for your location as we speak."

"Are you all right?"

Efilal's voice resonated in Dukel's mind.

Since his descent into this world, Efilal had reached out to him daily through the heart network, sending messages of concern.

"I'm fine. No need to worry," Dukel replied, reporting his safety. To bolster his claim, he snapped a photo of his surroundings and uploaded it to the heart network.

The image depicted Dukel standing proudly amidst the firelight, Magnus reduced to a mere head, and Skarbrand trampled beneath his feet, dying.

"Your situation is so dangerous! Please hold on—we'll be there soon," came an anxious voice from the heart network after seeing the photo.

"There's no need to worry."

As he spoke, Dukel did not stop moving. He raised the chainsword high, ready to execute Skarbrand.

At that moment, a massive surge of psychic energy erupted nearby.

A vicious, powerful psychic spell was unleashed by the hands of the Fateweaver, hurtling toward the Primarch. Dukel instinctively swung his chainsword, attempting to deflect the spell.

Unexpectedly, the spell veered sharply mid-air and sank into Skarbrand's body.

Boom!

Skarbrand's body, already gravely wounded, exploded under the psychic onslaught, banishing the bloodthirsty daemon back into the Warp.

"Hehehe."

Dukel tilted his head, his long black hair dancing in the firelight. He glared at the Fateweaver in the distance. "You meddlesome, feathered fiend."

Sensing the Primarch's murderous intent, Kairos Fateweaver turned and fled. Daemons of the Crystal Labyrinth poured forth, attempting to stall Dukel's pursuit.

Meanwhile, Khorne's berserkers, bereft of their Archdaemon, fell under the sway of Chaos sorcerers and launched a fearless assault on the Primarch.

Dukel met their charge head-on, his chainsword roaring with bloodlust.

Figures danced like shadows amidst the flames, shredding everything in their path.

Puff! Puff!

Limbs flew, torn from bodies by sheer force. Blood gushed from mutilated wounds, painting the ground crimson.

Dukel advanced steadily, his chainsword a blur of destruction. Wherever he passed, blood and flesh scattered like rain.

Though the daemons and cultists were innumerable, Dukel pressed on, undeterred. He treated all who stood in his way with the same ruthless efficiency. For Dukel, loyalty to the Emperor was straightforward: to kill, indiscriminately and without pause.

Time blurred. Days passed, marked only by endless slaughter.

"Run! Run!"

"Stay away from him!"

"Someone, save me!"

To Dukel's surprise, even daemons could feel fear.

"So, you know terror after all," he muttered, his crimson-stained cloak dripping with daemon blood.

After countless days of carnage, the forces arrayed against him broke. Some fled in desperation. Others, driven mad, mutated into Chaos Spawn. The followers of Tzeentch begged for mercy, offering secrets in exchange for their lives.

Dukel was unmoved. He killed them all.

His chainsword, steeped in the blood of daemons—great and small—began to glow with a sinister red light. But Dukel, consumed by his killing frenzy, remained oblivious.

In this state, his movements became sharper, his mind clearer—a perfect machine of death. As the killing continued, he felt something growing within him, a dark power taking root in his heart.

Suddenly, he stopped.

The world around him shifted inexplicably. The flames disappeared, replaced by warm sunlight, a tranquil pool, and figures of stunning beauty. Women in swimsuits—maids, schoolgirls, elegant ladies, even ones with animal ears—surrounded him.

"Come now, what are you waiting for?" a veiled woman said seductively, reaching for Dukel's hand.

Puff!

Dukel's instincts acted before his mind. The woman's head flew, blood arcing like a fountain.

Screams erupted as chaos consumed the serene scene.

"Brother, don't you recognize me?" a young girl asked, eyes brimming with pity.

Puff!

Her head joined the others on the blood-soaked ground.

Fulgrim's voice echoed in the distance. "So, you would even kill beauty, brother?"

The illusion crumbled under Dukel's wrath. Succubi fell by the dozens as the swimming pool turned into a lake of blood.

"Fulgrim, your plan has failed," the Fateweaver muttered, watching in disbelief as Dukel slaughtered everything.

"What went wrong?" Fulgrim mused. "He was lost in slaughter, trapped in a dream... How could he reject the beauty within himself?"

The daemons fell silent, watching the unstoppable tide of death. Dukel stood alone, blood-soaked and defiant, a testament to unyielding will.