Dukel gazed upon the Emperor seated upon the Golden Throne. As he processed the revelation that the Emperor's transformation was the result of his shattered psychic presence, understanding dawned upon him.
The collapse of the Emperor's will had inevitably reshaped his actions. In that cataclysmic war, He had sacrificed more than just his "politeness." He had given up vast portions of himself, fragmenting into something unpredictable.
To Dukel, the Emperor's refusal to abandon the Throne or entrust his "rational blade" to him was not merely a declaration of war against the Dark Gods—it was a consequence of his own broken self. Even He could no longer foresee His own decisions. And so, He waited. Patiently. For humanity's collective will to be reborn.
A painful, yet necessary, process of healing.
With this realization, Dukel ceased his questioning.
The Primarchs convened with the Emperor. The Speaker ensured that His words were conveyed with clarity, shielding all present from the psychic devastation that His mere voice could unleash. Without this safeguard, a simple utterance from the Master of Mankind could drown the room in raw warp energy.
For two days, the Primarchs listened.
No one beyond those hallowed halls would ever know what truths He imparted to His sons. When the meeting ended, the Primarchs emerged from the Eternity Gate, stepping into the vastness of the Imperial Palace.
And with them came an earth-shattering proclamation:
Dukel, Lord of the Second Legion, would be anointed as the new Warmaster within the month.
The declaration sent shockwaves through Terra. The repercussions rippled outward, spreading like wildfire across the entire Imperium. Even within the Warp, the sheer force of humanity's emotions caused the Immaterium to churn.
The Dark Gods took notice.
On a blighted world steeped in Khorne's dominion, the slaughter reached its climax. The blood-drenched selection had ended. Among the carnage, champions had risen—888 warbands of the Blood God and 88 exalted Greater Daemons, chosen for their unrelenting slaughter. They would bear the will of the Lord of Skulls and descend upon Terra to disrupt the coronation of the Supreme Warmaster.
Unaware of this gathering storm, Dukel returned to the palace alongside Magnus the Red. The Crimson King's face was taut with restrained fury, his single eye ablaze with emotion.
Dukel chuckled as he released the psychic restraints binding Magnus. "What's the matter, Magnus? Did our Majesty wound your pride? I recall hearing that you possess knowledge but lack wisdom. That statement seems truer than ever now. If you seek a man's truth, do not listen to his words—watch his deeds."
Magnus glared at him. "Are you suggesting he has forgiven me?"
"Isn't it obvious? Despite His fractured humanity, He has not executed you. He could have ended your existence with a thought or sealed you away beneath the Palace for eternity. Instead, He helped you reclaim the missing fragments of your soul. That is the truth."
"I have done nothing wrong! Why should I seek forgiveness?" Magnus roared. "If justice still exists, unbind me and let me stand trial before Him!"
Dukel sneered and, without a word, forced raw knowledge directly into Magnus' mind. The Primarch's body tensed as he absorbed the nightmarish reality hidden beneath the Imperial Palace.
A vast chamber. A Titan-sized machine of agony.
Rows upon rows of psykers lay entombed in iron coffins, their bodies writhing in torment. Every moment, their very essence was drained to sustain the Golden Throne. Some screamed in unending despair. Others remained silent, their faces frozen in silent agony, blood seeping from their vacant eyes.
Each day, a thousand psykers perished to keep the Master of Mankind alive.
"Is this the future you sought?" Dukel's voice was like a blade. "Your infallible certainty led to this. Countless souls suffer—not just the Emperor, but all who bear the burden of your hubris. And in the depths of the Webway, your folly remains an open wound. You, Magnus, shattered humanity's greatest hope with your own hands—yet you claim innocence? Is your self-righteousness so fragile that you cannot bear the weight of your sins?"
Magnus trembled. "The Webway project would have failed regardless. You know this. We all do! It was nothing more than an unattainable dream. Even if I had not acted, another would have. The Emperor was the first to bargain with the Chaos Gods! Before our creation, He struck an unknown pact with them! He deceived us all, leading us toward an impossible destiny. He gambled and lost. And now, He pays the price. He was never humanity's savior—merely a liar and a gambler who doomed us all!"
Dukel exhaled slowly.
Magnus was not entirely wrong.
The Great Crusade. The Horus Heresy.
At its core, this was the tale of a gambler who took out a loan from the worst lenders imaginable—the Chaos Gods—and then failed to pay His debts. Now, the debt collectors had come to collect.
Looking back, the Emperor's desperation was clear. During the Great Crusade, He had driven the Primarchs to conquer at breakneck speed, caring little for governance beyond securing tithes. Why? Because He was racing against time. He had to complete the Webway before His "creditors" came knocking.
The Gods had existed for eons, but never had they encountered a being who dared to deceive them so brazenly.
They would never tolerate such insolence.
Even if Magnus had not torn open the Webway, another crisis would have shattered the plan. Regnus, Ragnus, or another fool would have served as the pawn.
"And what would you have had Him do, Magnus? Surrender? Kneel before the Dark Gods and offer humanity as tribute?" Dukel's voice was unwavering. "Weakness does not earn mercy. The Gods are not benevolent. They do not spare the submissive."
Magnus fell silent.
As a Prince of Tzeentch, knowledge was never beyond his grasp. The more he learned of the past, the clearer the Emperor's dilemma became. Even without a pact, the Gods would have come. To them, all souls in the material realm were nothing more than an eternal feast.
Just as he struggled to formulate a rebuttal, Dukel spoke again.
"To be fair, brother, I also think the Webway plan was flawed. Not because the Webway is a bad idea—but because the Emperor's design was too simplistic. Such a fragile construct could never withstand the full might of Chaos."
Magnus furrowed his brow. "And what are you proposing? Another one of your 'grand' ideas?"
Dukel's eyes gleamed. "Precisely. I have pondered this for a long time. If it succeeds, even the Immaterium itself will tremble before the will of the Imperium."
Magnus felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"I call it the Void Realm of the Soul. Or, if you prefer—The Imperial Null-Realm."
Dukel's excitement was almost palpable. He launched into an impassioned explanation, detailing the project with feverish enthusiasm, even seeking Magnus' insight to refine it further.
The Crimson King's unease deepened.
Dukel was the Lord of Destruction—he had seen his brother's so-called 'brilliance' before. And if this project made even him ecstatic…
Magnus could not suppress the shudder that ran through his soul.
For the first time in centuries, he was truly afraid.
But Dukel did not stop speaking, even as Magnus's unease grew.
"This is not mere psionics," he explained. "The story begins long ago, in the early days of the Dark Side Crusade. When my psychic network reached a certain scale, I noticed the emergence of a nascent domain forming around my warp-essence. As the network expanded, this embryonic form became more structured and complete."
"Since then, I have pondered how to harness this territory within the Warp."
"This is my conclusion."
Dukel revealed his thoughts without hesitation. Within this chamber, shielded by an impenetrable psychic field, he had no fear of eavesdroppers.
What puzzled him, however, was Magnus's reaction. The Crimson King, a scholar by nature, should have been enthralled by the prospect of an entirely new metaphysical concept. Instead, his crimson complexion turned pallid, his lips beginning to tremble as fear took hold.
"Dukel… may I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"When this 'Virtual Realm'—formed from your nascent domain—is complete, will it act as a beacon, broadcasting not only your knowledge but that of every soul linked to your network?"
"Indeed." Dukel nodded. "Unlike the psychic network, this new realm will be impervious to external corruption. On the contrary, I wish for as many human souls as possible to join it."
"My ideal is to lead all of humanity into the Virtual Realm, severing them from the corrupting touch of the Warp entirely. But achieving this goal will require an offering—a great price paid in advance. Knowledge is the most valuable currency. Be it psychic cultivation techniques, biomagnetic field technology, or the vast array of skills possessed by the Heart Network, all of it will radiate into the Sea of Souls. In time, it will spread across the galaxy, drawing souls into the Virtual Realm."
Magnus exhaled sharply, his worst fears confirmed.
"Then, if I were to guess," he continued, "every soul drawn to the Virtual Realm will practice this knowledge in meditation or dreams. The deeper their understanding, the more solidified their presence in the Virtual Realm?"
Dukel blinked in surprise. "You deduced this?"
Magnus flinched, his dread intensifying.
"In time, the Virtual Realm will evolve into a gestalt of wills. At first, individuals will merely use it as a conduit for learning. But eventually, exceptional beings will learn to harness the collective power, mastering its laws. They will wield unimaginable abilities, even beyond the confines of the Realm."
Dukel's excitement dimmed as he sensed something amiss. "What have you realized?"
"Don't you see, brother? This is precisely how the Dark Gods came into being!" Magnus shouted.
"Nurgle's birth was catalyzed by the despair of the War in Heaven. Slaanesh emerged from the unfathomable excess of the Eldar. Even the Emperor—our father—became the Throne-bound Cursed One out of fear for humanity's annihilation."
"And now, brother, you stand poised to walk the same path. To ascend the throne of divinity. To become the first and final arbiter of destruction. Do you truly understand the cost? Even the Ruinous Powers may recoil at the price you would pay."
Dukel's expression darkened. "I am no god. I will never be a god."
His voice was cold, his certainty absolute. But inwardly, doubt crept into his thoughts.
How had he not realized this before?
"No... my perceptions have been compromised." His heart sank.
Just as the servants of Nurgle revel in their own decay, and the acolytes of Slaanesh fail to perceive their own depravity, had he too succumbed to the instincts of his warp-forged existence?
Magnus's voice softened. "Brother, will you still pursue this path?"
"What choice do I have?" Dukel asked bitterly. "The course is set."
"According to plan, we begin with a small-scale test within the Ecclesiarchy," he continued.
Since the Emperor's ascension, the Ecclesiarchy had become the Imperium's most powerful institution. Though Dukel had refrained from acting against them upon his return to Terra, it was not out of negligence.
The Adeptus Ministorum was unlike any other faction. They were neither ignorant nor malevolent. They were simply... mad.
Consider:
If the Emperor were to rise from the Golden Throne and declare, "I am not a god!"
Lorgar, the False Believer, would cry, "We have devoted ourselves to your worship, and now you deny it?! LIES! HERESY!"
Meanwhile, an ordinary Ecclesiarch would nod solemnly. "Only a true god would deny his own divinity. The Emperor is Truth incarnate. If He says He is not a god, then He must not be. Perhaps the title of 'God' is too crude for one so omniscient and omnipotent. He is something far greater."
It was the Ecclesiarchy, more than any other force, that had plunged the Imperium into its current state of madness.
Dukel had long considered their eradication.
But the fanatics would likely see their own execution as the ultimate honor.
"The Great Son of Man executes me personally? This is the highest blessing!" they would proclaim.
A war might even break out among them—each sect vying for the privilege of dying by his hand. Only the victorious would be deemed worthy of martyrdom.
Conventional methods would not suffice against such lunacy.
But Dukel had no intention of using conventional methods.
Long ago, he had resolved to conduct his first Virtual Realm experiment within the Ecclesiarchy.
Magnus trembled. "You are insane."
"Perhaps," Dukel mused. "But are any of us sane?"
He gazed through the chamber's window, out into the boundless void. The endless stars twinkled like distant, indifferent gods.
"When we stride across the stars, some naive notions of compromise must be abandoned. This universe is nothing but a cruel absurdity. Gods and daemons are but reflections of mortal minds. The more suffering we endure, the less we can afford to hesitate. Only by advancing fearlessly can we ensure our species' survival in this merciless cosmos."
For a moment, Magnus was silent. Then, laughter erupted from his lips.
Wild, uncontrollable, and filled with a mix of awe and horror.
"Hahahaha! Dukel, you're mad! Utterly mad!"