2nd Primarch

The drop pods, trailing flames, fell like dense fire meteors—like falling stars. On the ground, many of the Imperial soldiers still holding out had tears in their eyes as they witnessed this scene. The Emperor's angels had descended from the sky. In a trance, it seemed to them as if they had returned to the golden age of mankind, thousands of years ago.

Dukel sat in his drop pod, scanning the data displayed before him. As they broke through the toxic gas layer—a poisonous shroud formed by the indiscriminate use of chemical weapons—the battlefield below began to take shape.

Tens of thousands of Withering Drones, the blighted servants of the World Purifying Plague Army, swarmed the skies. The roaring guns, thundering artillery, and desperate shouts of human soldiers below grew louder and clearer.

"Landing coordinates determined. Coordinates locked," an electronic prompt announced in the pod.

"Coordinates confirmed. Suppressing air defense targets now," came a voice over the Space Marine communication channel.

The thrusters on Dukel's drop pod roared as they adjusted, ensuring a precise landing at the designated coordinates. On the ground, Chaos Space Marines raised their plague-blessed lasguns, firing streams of corrosive energy toward the descending pods. Some pods were struck, their fiery trails vanishing as they disintegrated midair.

Watching his comrades' sacrifices, Dukel's patience wore thin. At less than a thousand meters from the ground, the Primarch kicked open the pod door. Dual-wielding a bolter and a chainsword, he leaped into the open air.

With a tremendous acceleration, he plummeted earthward, the sonic boom from his descent tearing through the air. A circular shockwave rippled outward as his indomitable body slammed into the battlefield, throwing debris hundreds of meters in every direction.

The force of his landing crushed a Chaos warrior beneath him, turning the traitor's power armor and flesh into indistinguishable gore.

"Click—"

Dukel raised his grenade launcher, its barrel wreathed in the ethereal, blazing light of soul fire.

"For the Emperor!" he roared.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The grenade launcher barked, its explosions mingling with his bloodthirsty laughter. Human traitors and heretics were torn apart by the spiritual energy-infused blasts. The ground firepower of the World Purification Army was annihilated, enabling the drop pods to land with minimal losses.

The Second Legion's guards quickly assembled around Dukel. Their weapons also burned with soul fire, effortlessly bypassing the chaos energy fields shielding the heretics' power armor. Those who dared to resist were obliterated in an instant.

Within moments, Dukel and his 5,000 guards swept through the enemy's defensive line, crushing any opposition. Yet, more Chaos forces were converging like swarms of insects in the poisonous fog, their guttural war cries barely audible over the cacophony of battle.

Above, more drop pods rained from the sky, a torrent of reinforcements. The Imperial Infantry and Space Marines swiftly regrouped upon landing, forming battle lines to counter the surging tide of chaos.

"Humanity will prevail!" Dukel's voice boomed, inspiring the soldiers around him. His fervor ignited the battlefield, and the rallying cry spread like wildfire among the Imperial forces.

As one, they charged. The Primarch led from the front, his unstoppable momentum and righteous fury shattering the traitors and Chaos-tainted fools who stood against him. The broken bodies of fallen heretics littered the ground, their flesh, armor, and bones mangled beyond recognition.

"Execute Tactic 63!" Dukel commanded, his voice resonating through his power armor's vox-system. The advancing Imperial forces split into two formations.

Dukel and his guards drove toward the World Purification Army's anti-aircraft railguns, while Efilar, the living saint, led the other group to support the besieged defenders at Nalai Star's Iron Fortress.

Within the fortress, the situation was dire. Civilians and soldiers alike fought valiantly against the endless waves of the Plague Army. Supplies were dwindling, and every inch of ground was contested with blood and sweat. Yet, the arrival of reinforcements rekindled hope.

"Buzz!—"

Dukel's chainsword roared to life as he tore through the outer plating of a Chaos Demos Predator tank. Wrenching open the breach, he shoved his soul fire-infused bolter into its core. The ensuing explosion consumed the war machine in a fiery inferno.

"Forward!" he bellowed, carving a path of carnage through the enemy ranks.

The soldiers of the Second Legion followed, their formation bolstered by an impenetrable psychic matrix. The weapons of Chaos, corrupted by dark blessings, faltered against this mental barrier, their potency nullified.

Meanwhile, Efilar, her flaming wings ablaze, cut a swath through the battlefield. Her radiance was a beacon of hope for the Imperial warriors, who rallied to her side. Even the mighty Astartes struggled to match her strength and grace as she led the charge toward the beleaguered fortress.

Inside the Iron Fortress, defenders turned their guns to provide covering fire for the reinforcements. The once-oppressed soldiers roared with renewed vigor, their gun barrels blazing with fury. Civilians joined the fray, hauling ammunition, tending the wounded, and even wielding weapons themselves.

This is the spirit of the Imperium—the resilience of humanity. In the grim darkness of the galaxy, where hope is fleeting and sacrifice is eternal, the Emperor's light burns brightest through the unyielding courage of his people.