2nd Primarch

The Chaos fortress's defenses were no match for the upgraded Imperial technology, shattered to pieces by the thunderous railgun's blasts.

Through the breach created by the bombardment, the expeditionary force poured in, their weapons tearing the enemy apart in a brutal melee.

When all the daemons within the fortress were driven back into the Warp, the expedition declared their first lost world reclaimed.

Dust from the fires of war hung heavy in the atmosphere.

There were no cheers or celebrations from the victorious human army.

Instead, they marched onward with steadfast resolve.

There were still more worlds to save, and it was not yet time to rest.

In the outer orbit, the Imperial fleet floated in a rectangular formation. The engines of several warships roared to life once again, leaving comet-like trails as they ignited.

The vast expeditionary fleet began to splinter into smaller formations, each bound for nearby worlds to carry out reinforcement or rescue missions.

The parliament, led by Duke, dispatched governing officials to these worlds to oversee post-disaster reconstruction.

Restoring human prosperity amidst the ruins of Chaos would be as perilous and grueling as the battles themselves.

Dukel did not sail with the fleet. Instead, he stayed briefly on Nanlis, a world ravaged by Chaos.

The Primarch's arrival was met with reverence by the survivors.

The people of the Imperium, scarred by the massacre wrought by the forces of Chaos, had yet to recover from their anguish.

Walking among them, Dukel could sense their sorrow and despair.

The invasion of Chaos had irrevocably altered their fates. They endured tragedy, losing friends, family, and loved ones.

All they could hope for was that the souls of the fallen would find their way to the Emperor's light, resting eternally on the Golden Throne, free from the torment of Chaos.

Behind Dukel, Imperial priests sang hymns to the Emperor, instilling courage in the hearts of the grieving.

The Primarch dismissed the Battle Sisters guarding him and stepped into the crowd.

He had no vulnerabilities left to exploit. Petty assassination attempts could no longer harm him, and in direct combat, whether against his fallen brothers or the Chaos Gods' greater daemons, he was confident of his supremacy.

With a gentle touch of his psychic power, Dukel eased the fear and anguish within the people.

The Emperor's second son was not one for stirring speeches.

Though he felt the depth of their sorrow, words to inspire them eluded him.

So, he comforted them in his own way.

This delicate process required precision. As master of the Heart Network, Dukel's psychic power dwarfed the combined strength of tens of thousands of minds.

If his output lacked control, his intervention could scatter their psyches, leaving them mindless husks and compounding the disaster.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A woman approached, clutching a child to her chest. Her voice trembled with fear.

"Your Majesty, great demigod, please bless my child. His father, though just a factory worker, fought the daemons until his dying breath. Please, bless my child so that his father's soul may rest beneath the Golden Throne."

Tears filled her eyes, and the blood and grime on her body spoke of her suffering.

Her husband had perished protecting her and their child, his skull crushed by mocking daemons.

The woman, frail from hardship, stood barely 1.7 meters tall. Before her loomed the nearly five-meter-tall Primarch, clad in power armor. To her, he was a towering iron colossus, his presence both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Summoning every ounce of her courage, she approached him, her heart heavy with dread. She dared not meet his gaze, fearing rejection or anger from the godlike figure before her.

But the nightmare she feared did not come to pass.

Unseen by her, a flicker of hesitation crossed the Primarch's face.

Recovering quickly, Dukel wiped the lingering daemon blood from his power gauntlets with his cloak.

Satisfied his hands were clean, he bent down and carefully lifted the infant from her arms.

For a moment, even Dukel marveled at the fragile yet resilient nature of life.

The child fit entirely in his palm, a tiny being that had survived unimaginable horrors.

Infusing a trace of psychic energy into the infant, Dukel watched as the malnourished face gained color and fullness. The child stirred and smiled—a pure, innocent expression in a world steeped in blood and chaos.

"This," Dukel murmured, his voice resonant, "is what we fight for: the hope of the Imperium. The greatness of life is not in its strength, but in its defiance of despair."

"The suffering inflicted by the daemons must not touch them. I wish this child a brighter future, and the same for all my fellow humans struggling through this darkness."

Carefully, Dukel returned the child to his mother. She trembled with gratitude, her knees buckling as she attempted to kneel in worship.

But Dukel stopped her.

"Do not kneel," he said gently. "You must stand tall, for your child will need your strength to weather life's storms. We all carry the burden of the Imperium's survival. How can we shoulder such a weight if we bow too easily?"

Standing to his full height, Dukel declared,

"The Imperium's future requires the efforts of us all. Stand firm, for humanity endures together."

His words sparked a renewed determination among the survivors. Slowly, they rose, their despair replaced by hope and resolve.

As their cheers rang out, the Primarch gazed across the horizon, where new battles and challenges awaited.

Fate, like the turning of great gears, had been set in motion once more.

Even the gods could not foresee where it would lead.