2nd Primarch

"This is a Great Daemon of Nurgle," the psykers murmured, their psychic vision focused on the battlefield. They exchanged uncertain glances, their faces pale with dread.

In that moment, they truly understood the magnitude of a Great Daemon's power.

The Blessed Forgotten Messenger, already gifted with Nurgle's blessings and daemon-level might, had been a fearsome foe. Yet now, the psykers realized the vast chasm between Great Daemons—a gap greater than that between humans and microscopic amoebas.

Previously, they had believed that, with enough Astartes and heavy firepower, they could overwhelm the Blessed Messenger.

But now, standing against the Great Unclean One, Limbass, they were gripped by utter helplessness.

Their carefully calculated decapitation strike—meticulously planned and flawlessly executed—had only managed to exploit a fleeting lapse in the daemon's awareness. The strike created a small breach in the horde of plague zombies surrounding him.

That breach was filled almost instantly by more shambling corpses.

The psykers had expended immense resources, manpower, and strategy to seize that one opportunity.

And all it achieved was the destruction of a handful of insignificant undead.

"This isn't even the full extent of a Great Daemon's war potential," one of the psykers sighed heavily, despair weighing on his soul. "We might need to call for reinforcements from nearby star systems."

Through their psychic vision, the battlefield was painfully clear.

The Great Unclean One's bloated, mountainous form loomed like a walking meat mountain. Swirling miasmas of decay and pestilence surrounded him, and his grotesque entourage of zombies trudged alongside. Despite his slow and ungainly movement, nothing could impede his advance.

Humanity's proud heavy artillery strikes impacted him as if they were mere whispers of wind. Every obstacle crumbled before his immense power. On this battlefield, he was the undisputed master—an unstoppable storm, a torrent no mortal could hope to withstand.

No human could stand against him.

"The situation is dire," Dukel muttered, his expression grim as he surveyed the battlefield.

Under the psykers' orders, he guarded the final defensive line: a fortress carved from the heart of a mountain. Its stone walls were marked with sacred symbols painstakingly etched by Ministorum priests, wards against Chaos's insidious gaze and influence.

These psychic wards and sigils made it difficult for Chaos curses to take hold here, but Dukel could still feel the tide of battle through his psychic senses and the communication network.

The Expeditionary Forces were struggling everywhere.

The Space Marines' comm channels were inundated with frantic cries for reinforcements from firepoints, a never-ending stream of desperation.

"How can I remain idle while loyal servants of the Emperor fight for survival?" Dukel declared, his voice firm and resolute. "No—I cannot!"

"I must do something."

Before he could act, Commissar Kaine stepped forward, stopping him with urgency. "No, my lord! You mustn't!"

"The psykers have devised the most rational strategy. Your comrades and brothers stand ready in the fortress behind us. You cannot abandon them!"

Kaine's face was pale as he interposed himself between Dukel and the battlefield.

Though this was his first encounter with the Primarch, Kaine immediately recognized him as the most battle-hungry warlord he had ever encountered. Even the most frenzied berserkers he'd met in his career paled in comparison.

Kaine, who had lived through many legendary feats, still saw himself as a simple man who relied on luck.

Whether it was slaying an Ork Warlord in blind panic or barely escaping the clutches of Slaanesh by regaining his senses at the last moment, Kaine attributed his success to sheer fortune.

Now, with countless injured comrades behind him and the Imperium's hope—this Primarch—before him, Kaine felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility. He could not allow the Primarch to endanger himself, no matter the odds.

"The best defense is a strong offense," Dukel said, placing a reassuring hand on Kaine's shoulder. "Commissar, surely you understand this basic principle?"

"If I march out there and annihilate these daemons, wouldn't that secure our defenses?"

But Kaine, desperate, refused to yield, clinging to the Primarch to stop him.

At that moment, Dukel thought Kaine resembled a stubborn Krieger Commissar.

Kaine signaled the guards to join him in convincing the Primarch to stay, but to his dismay, they remained motionless. Their fanatic loyalty to Dukel was unwavering. If ordered, they would charge into the battlefield—or even leap into a star—without hesitation.

Realizing persuasion was futile, Kaine threw himself at the Primarch's legs, pleading desperately.

"My lord, you must not leave the defensive line!"

"The daemons' primary target is you! For the sake of humanity, you must remain calm!"

"And if you leave, who will protect the medicae teams within the fortress? What if the daemons break through?"

Dukel remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Kaine's frantic tone, sharpened by desperation, made him sound like an anxious sprite to the Primarch.

"Fine, I won't leave," Dukel finally relented with a sigh. "But tell me—how long can the Expeditionary Forces hold out?"

"If my senses are correct, the outermost defenses are already collapsing. It won't be long before they're breached entirely."

The Great Daemon, Limbass, was simply too overwhelming.

With no forces capable of countering him and outnumbered on every front, the defensive lines were retreating step by step.

Kaine hesitated. "Wasn't the plan to weaken the daemons by leveraging the outer defenses?"

"That plan has failed," Dukel replied. "The retreat is too rapid. Instead of inflicting damage, we're ceding strategic ground. If they establish a psychic gateway, they could bypass our defenses entirely."

Dukel's analysis was flawless. Even Kaine, after running simulations in his mind, couldn't refute him.

"What do we do, then?" the Commissar asked helplessly.

"We enact Plan Two," Dukel said confidently.

"Plan Two?"

"Yes. My plan."

"What?!" Kaine's voice rose in alarm.

At that moment, a deafening explosion rocked the fortress.

To Kaine's disbelief, the Second Legion guards had planted melta bombs, blasting open a massive breach in the fortress's defensive line.

As the air filled with the roar of explosions and debris rained down, Kaine fell to the ground, stunned and horrified.

"Why, my lord?!"

"Since the daemons want to come in, let them in!" Dukel bellowed, his laughter echoing through the chaos. He tapped his temple with a finger.

"Commissar, you don't understand. The mind of a Primarch rivals any cogitator."

"And my calculations tell me—"

"Now is the time to unleash overwhelming force!"