2nd Primarch

After ascending to daemonhood, even Fulgrim's attacking posture exuded an unnatural grace. Not even the most skilled Slaaneshi Dancers could rival the deadly elegance of his movements.

The Keeper of Secrets followed closely, joining the battle between the estranged brothers.

The Fateweaver lingered on the periphery, fully aware of the terrifying strength of this loyal Primarch. It carefully observed the fray, seeking weaknesses to exploit with its devastating psychic powers.

Brother fought against brother. Daemons poured into the fray. The Phoenix, once the pride of the Imperium, had fallen into the depths of depravity, aligning with the Ruinous Powers.

The memory of No. 2 stirred anew within Dukel's heart, reigniting his loathing for daemons.

"Dukel, tell me," Fulgrim said, his voice a poisonous hiss. "How does it feel to see the Imperium as it stands now? Mortals have languished in decadence and ignorance for ten thousand years. Does such an empire still deserve your loyalty?"

Fulgrim circled him, his wicked smile twisting his once-proud features. The twin swords in his hands glinted malevolently as he attacked with unrelenting ferocity.

Dukel's guard never wavered. He knew all too well the danger of the poison coating Fulgrim's blades—the same venom that had gravely wounded Guilliman ten thousand years ago. Whether it would still affect him remained unknown, but he could take no chances.

"Compared to the Imperium," Dukel replied, parrying another strike with his roaring chainsword, "I'm more curious about something else." He sidestepped another blow. "I've heard rumors, Fulgrim—unspeakable acts committed against your own descendants. Are they true?"

"Lies! Baseless slander!" Fulgrim snarled, his composure slipping. Yet Dukel's mocking laughter echoed, cutting through his brother's denials.

Fulgrim's strikes grew erratic, his fury disrupting his coordination with the Keeper of Secrets. Sensing the shift, Dukel turned his attention to the daemon.

The Keeper of Secrets was a grotesque amalgamation of beauty and horror. Tentacles writhed across its form, glistening with foul mucus. A cloying, intoxicating fragrance hung in the air, veiling its repulsive true nature with an aura of supernatural allure.

As a great daemon of Slaanesh, it transcended mortal gender distinctions, presenting illusions so alluring that men and women alike were drawn to their doom. It lured its victims into a spiral of depravity, pushing them to pursue ever-greater heights of pleasure—until the ultimate descent into violence and mutual destruction.

"I heard your god was beaten by Khorne," Dukel said casually. His words were a dagger aimed at the daemon's pride.

The Keeper froze, its composure shattered. This was no baseless taunt—Tzeentch had once lured Slaanesh into battle against Khorne, and the Dark Prince had suffered a humiliating defeat. Few daemons knew the truth, but the Keeper of Secrets was among them.

"Primarch, you dare mock the Prince of Pleasure!" the Keeper shrieked, its voice trembling with rage.

But Dukel only laughed, his disdain cutting deeper than any weapon. "Why so angry? I'm only speaking the truth."

With his enemies unbalanced, Dukel seized the moment. He struck Fulgrim with a bone-crushing punch, sending him reeling. His chainsword roared as it carved a hideous wound into the Keeper of Secrets, ichor spraying across the battlefield.

Above them, the sky erupted with light. A fleet bearing the colors of Khorne descended into orbit, prepared to unleash annihilation upon the planet. Their plan was simple—if the Blood God's scheme had failed, they would raze this world to ash.

But their bombardment never came. From the darkness of space, a new fleet emerged. Its ships were works of art, gliding silently toward the Khorne vessels with lethal precision.

Unlike the brutal, functional designs of the Imperial Navy, this fleet killed with an elegance that could only be described as beautiful. They struck without warning, dismantling the Khorne fleet with an efficiency that bordered on artistry.

Brilliant flashes lit the void as artillery and missiles transformed the silence of space into a theater of war. The Eldar Death Army, led by Evelyne, the once-mighty overlord of the galaxy, had arrived.

Their intervention was swift and devastating, forcing the Khorne fleet to abandon its plans of planetary destruction.

On the ground, Dukel prepared to pursue Fulgrim and the Keeper of Secrets when a fiery presence descended from above.

"Your Highness Dukel!"

The shout came from Efilar, who plunged from the heavens with blazing wings outstretched. Her fiery descent incinerated every daemon within the vicinity as she crashed into Dukel's arms.

The storm of flames left nothing but ash in its wake. Though Efilar stood only 1.8 meters tall—small compared to the towering Primarch—her aura radiated power. Her embrace, however, was that of a daughter reunited with her father.

"Efilar, now isn't the time for this," Dukel said, patting her shoulder gently.

The sound of his voice eased her worries, her recent unease melting away.

"Your Highness, what horrors have you endured in this place?" Her eyes filled with anguish as she took in the blood-soaked state of his cloak.

"It's nothing I can't handle," Dukel replied dismissively. He began to say more but stopped, his expression darkening.

"Guilliman! What are you doing!?"

In the distance, Guilliman charged forward, his azure armor gleaming, his sword burning with the Emperor's holy fire.

"Fulgrim, traitor! You cannot escape!" Guilliman roared, his movements so swift that even Space Marines struggled to follow his advance.

The battle was far from over.