"The Fabrication General was exposed as a Chaos cultist by me and the Imperial Regent. Out of fear of judgment, he took his own life!"
Even Roboute Guilliman's expression twitched upon hearing Dukel's words.
Brother, how am I supposed to learn if you verify things like this?
Even Guilliman was surprised, while the gathered Magi of the Adeptus Mechanicus nearly suffered catastrophic cognitive overload. The logic processors within their cogitator-enhanced minds momentarily stalled, struggling to parse the sheer audacity of the claim.
One among them, a senior Magos Biologis, could not hold back any longer. She pointed to the fragmented remains of the Fabrication General, still scattered across the grand hall, and asked in disbelief:
"Lord Dukel, the Fabrication General's remains have been blasted across twenty-two point two-two standard units. Do you truly call this suicide?"
Dukel nodded as if this were the most natural conclusion in the galaxy. "Of course."
The assembled Magi fell into stunned silence.
In all their centuries of existence, they had never encountered such an absolute void of logical rebuttal.
Dukel, with the patience of an instructor addressing students who lacked even the most basic understanding of the Mechanicus, elaborated, "This honored Magos simply lacks comprehension of the myriad ways a Fabrication General might choose to self-terminate."
The Magos Biologis blinked. I lack comprehension of the Adeptus Mechanicus?
She studied Dukel's expression. His face was sculpted into something almost inhumanly perfect—one befitting a Primarch. It was a visage that could render billions across the Imperium breathless. Yet, despite its beauty, his expression was utterly, shamelessly sincere.
A proverb from her homeworld echoed in her mind: The more beautiful a man, the more proficient his deception—like a venomous serpent in silk.
Yet, this wisdom seemed… insufficient here.
Dukel wasn't even attempting deception. He was lying so blatantly it was as though he dared her to object.
Expose me if you have the courage.
She quietly asked herself if she valued her life. After a long moment, she decided she did, and so, she chose silence.
Simply questioning him once had already been a dangerous gamble.
If merely inquiring led her to doubt her own knowledge of the Mechanicus, then what would insisting on the truth accomplish? Would that, too, make her a heretic?
In that instant, she finally understood why the Emperor's fabled new garments had been praised by the masses—because the cost of honesty was too high.
Dukel exhaled in relief.
"Lev, the verdict is clear. The esteemed Magi unanimously concur with my assessment. We affirm that the Fabrication General, corrupted by Chaos, took his own life in despair. The Supreme Council may disseminate this truth accordingly."
Dukel knew that anyone with a modicum of perception would realize that the Fabrication General had not, in fact, committed suicide.
But that was irrelevant.
So long as the people of the Imperium believed it, the truth became self-evident. If they accepted it, then why wouldn't you? And if you didn't believe it—well, then you must be a heretic.
The citizenry knew little of the Adeptus Mechanicus. As for those "perceptive individuals" who understood the deeper reality? They had better keep their doubts to themselves.
One executes the chicken to terrify the monkey. If certain individuals failed to comprehend the lesson, then what point was there in even playing the lute before a deaf audience?
Truth—until the Emperor himself stepped down from the Golden Throne—was whatever Dukel decreed it to be.
And should that day ever come, the Imperium would have already reached its golden age, fulfilling mankind's divine destiny to rule the galaxy unchallenged. By then, Dukel would have long since cast aside the burdens of governance, retiring into eternity with his loyal followers.
A life of ceaseless service to the Imperium? Unthinkable. Who truly desired to wrestle with its bureaucratic nightmare? Everything they fought for now was for the paradise that lay beyond.
For his ideal, Dukel remained steadfast.
Lev, standing beside him, was moved by his conviction.
"Ah, how fortunate we are that our esteemed lords possess such clear judgment—and with the venerable Magi as witnesses, no less! Otherwise, one might have mistakenly assumed the Fabrication General had been executed! Hahaha!"
Lev forced a laugh, only to realize that no one joined him. The silence was suffocating. Awkwardly, he reined in his mirth.
The Magi, for their part, wished dearly that they had not been made witnesses.
Dukel wordlessly drew his Blade of Souls and leisurely wiped the lingering machine oil from its edge.
Guilliman, watching, once again unsheathed the Emperor's Sword and studied the intricate gemstones inlaid upon it.
One must never cease learning.
He had certainly been learning a great deal in recent times.
The gathered Magi averted their eyes. Many of them, veterans of war, held no fear of death itself.
But how one died…
A noble death, perishing in battle against the tides of Chaos—such an end was a glory beyond compare. A family could be proud of such a sacrifice.
But this? To be branded a heretic, slaughtered by two Primarchs on a political whim? To have one's entire bloodline purged in disgrace?
That was a fate worse than death.
And if even the Chief Minister of the Supreme Council had chosen to remain silent—then what use was resistance?
The meager funding allocated to their research did not justify martyrdom.
Thus, the Magi, one and all, elected to remain mute.
Lev, seeing this, felt wholly reassured.
The operation had proceeded far more smoothly than anticipated. His careful concealment of his allegiance to Dukel had yielded unexpected benefits.
The Magi had expected Lev to be their advocate, a champion for justice, a counterweight to the authority of the Primarchs.
They had braced for a battle of wits and wills.
And yet, their supposed protector had surrendered without resistance.
Faced with such a betrayal, their will to fight evaporated.
Lev turned to the two Primarchs. "The death of the Fabrication General is a matter of grave importance—one which cannot be hidden from the people. The Supreme Council will announce this matter shortly."
He paused before delivering his final request.
"However, my lords… we will require irrefutable proof of his heresy. Without it, the citizens of the Imperium will not be so easily convinced."
Dukel nodded. "Do not worry, Commander. Though the Fabrication General is well hidden, the taint of Chaos cannot escape my perception. A simple search is all I require to expose the servants of the Ruinous Powers. I will not allow any doubt to linger upon my name."
Whether it was the Grand Master, the Grand Marshal, or the Fabrication General, the most difficult part of their operations had always been eliminating the heretics.
Now that they had been purged, was there any concern about finding evidence?
That was the simplest task of all.
The Primarchs had little shortage of things, but one guarantee was an abundance of Chaos-tainted spoils.
Lev inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you for your tireless efforts, my lord. Without Lord Dukel's devotion, the Imperium's glory could never be restored."
Dukel waved off the praise. "This is not solely my achievement. The eradication of heretics is the duty of every loyal subject of the Emperor. Even the Regent fought with his own hands and struck down a heretic Knight."
He gestured toward the shattered Knight suit sprawled upon the ground.
"This Knight, outwardly a protector of the Forger Master, was, in truth, long since corrupted by the whispers of the Dark Gods. I suspect that the rampant heresy within the Imperium stems from both the Forger Master and this fallen Knight."
The gathered officials and warriors contemplated his words, and the logic was undeniable.
With this, the public justification for the Primarch's purge of Terra's heretics was laid bare.
So it had been the Fabrication General who had orchestrated the corruption within the Mechanicus and nobility alike?
Dukel's reasoning was impeccable, and the gathered officials found themselves compelled by his words.
"Furthermore, the great magos have ever been just, rational, and loyal. Upon learning the truth, they saw through the Fabrication General's deception and swiftly took the side of righteousness. Loyalty must be rewarded in kind. I propose that the Administratum allocate additional research funds to these loyal magos, enabling them to overcome technological hurdles and rededicate themselves fully to the Imperium."
Divide, subjugate, entice, and manipulate.
This was war, and war was ever the art of the strong breaking the weak. Dukel wielded his position like a scalpel, cleaving through the ranks of the Mechanicus step by step.
The great magos, already silent before, now stood in mute compliance.
Lev readily accepted the suggestion. After all, funding the great magos served the Imperium just as much as it served them.
Dukel's purge of the Terra nobility had yielded vast, immeasurable wealth. Using those funds to push the Mechanicus toward technological breakthroughs carried no moral burden.
"Your proposal is just, my lord. Great magos, we thank you for your diligence," Lev said, delivering the Aquila salute.
"The Fabrication General has perished in disgrace. This revelation will shake the entire galaxy. The Supreme Council's reach is not infinite—we need the great magos to maintain stability within the Mechanicus. As of today, all great magos shall receive a fifty percent increase in research funding. This is the extent of what the Administratum can offer for now. Future adjustments will be dictated by the state of the Imperium. Do not be alarmed."
Dukel studied Lev.
For one to rise to the pinnacle of Terra's power, step by step, from the depths of its political machine, they could not lack ability.
By tying the great magos' interests directly to the Imperium, Lev had ensured that any dissent within the Mechanicus would come at the cost of their own research funding.
"What has happened here?" A voice rang out, cutting through the silence. A figure arrived precisely at the right moment.
"Gris, my old friend, you are finally here," Dukel said, striding forward to embrace him warmly, his expression one of deep regret. "I knew the corruption of Chaos was insidious, but I had not expected even the Mars Fabrication General to succumb."
The Primarch explained the events to the Magos.
"How could this be?" Gris gasped, horror etched across his mechanical visage.
"Gris, my most trusted friend," Dukel continued, his sorrow apparent. "The Mechanicus is one of the twin heads of the Aquila, the Imperium's steadfast ally. Now, with the Fabrication General fallen to heresy and meeting his end in disgrace, the Mechanicus cannot remain leaderless. You alone possess my trust. I ask you to take up his mantle and convene the Great Sage Council to elect the next Fabricator-General of Mars."
"For the Imperium. For the fate of mankind. Please, my friend, do not refuse this duty."
"I…" Gris hesitated. "My lord, I am unworthy. My faction lacks the authority to assume leadership in the Fabrication General's stead."
Dukel placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. "With so many loyal great magos standing beside you, you clearly possess the authority. Please, do not decline."
"My old friend, the Fabrication General and his Guardian Knights were heretics. The depths of corruption within the Mechanicus remain unfathomable. Now, I trust only you, as do the loyal magos gathered here. Please, do not refuse. On behalf of the Imperium, I beseech you to assume this burden."
The Second Legion had always prided itself on its logic and reason. Thus, Dukel added, "Of course, if any great sage here disagrees, stand and refute me. The Second Legion values reason above all else. Should your argument prove sound, I will uphold your judgment in the name of the Imperium."
Guilliman, standing beside him, was moved. "Brother, you are ever the just one."
Silence gripped the chamber.
Dukel smiled. "My friend, you see? This is the will of the great magos. With so many standing behind you, why hesitate? Delay no longer and do not betray their trust."
Gris, visibly moved, finally nodded.
"Thank you, my colleagues. Thank you, Lord Dukel, for your faith in me. Though I lack the wisdom and grandeur of my predecessors, I shall not turn away from this duty. I will take up the responsibilities of the Fabrication General in this time of crisis."
Dukel observed Gris closely.
At that moment, he understood the stark contrast between a scholar like Gris and a politician like Lev.
Had Lev been in Gris's place, he would have declined repeatedly, engaged in ritualistic hesitations, and only after much back-and-forth would he have "reluctantly" accepted the position.
Gris, however, lacked the guile for such political games.
But that was the nature of the Mechanicus. It was an empire of scholars and technocrats. Researchers had little patience for political maneuvering.
"Your service is appreciated, my friend."
"Wait!"
Just as Dukel and Gris reached an accord, another figure entered the hall in haste.
Guilliman turned to Dukel. "This is the Chief Magos of the Mechanicus. A staunch conservative."
Dukel's mind immediately recalled the Regent's intelligence.
The Mechanicus had shown only token cooperation with the Second Great Crusade's preparations. The Fabrication General had "malfunctioned," and the Chief Magos had likewise suffered mysterious "malfunctions," requiring extensive repairs.
Now, seeing the Chief Magos arrive in pristine condition, realization dawned—and with it, a cold, simmering rage.
"You played me for a fool?" Dukel thought, but before he could act, the Chief Magos cried out in apparent grief.
The Chief Magos cried out in grief and anger. "My brother, I will seek justice for your death."
He had arrived with remarkable speed—too quickly to be ignorant of the truth. He knew exactly why the Fabricator General had perished.
His display of sorrow was nothing more than calculated theatrics, a ploy to rally conservative support and position himself as the next Fabricator General of Mars. It was a gambit for power, research privileges, and the vast resources left behind by Raskian.
Compared to the political maneuvering of Terra, the Mechanicus' scheming was almost laughably crude.
This was why Dukel always struck at the leader first when purging heretics and traitors.
An organization is most dangerous when it has both a leader and an enemy to unite against. Remove either, and cohesion crumbles.
Dukel himself was their enemy, and he could not be absent. That left only one solution: the leader had to go first.
"Do not grieve, Chief Magos." Dukel's voice was cold, authoritative. "The esteemed Magi present have already declared their support for Gris."
The Chief Magos' wailing halted for a fraction of a second.
Then, after a dramatic pause, he resumed his lamentations.
Three full seconds passed before he composed himself. "Lord Dukel, what caused my brother's untimely passing? Was it an assassination?"
His faction lacked the power to challenge a Primarch directly—but perhaps he could redirect suspicion toward Lev, the Chancellor of the Supreme Council.
Though the Adeptus Mechanicus held only a single seat on the Council, for ten millennia, the lords of Mars had scarcely acknowledged its authority. To them, a governing body of mere mortals was unworthy of respect.
Lev remained silent, his eyes fixed on the Primarch.
Dukel did not disappoint his loyal Chancellor. He ignored the Chief Magos' question entirely.
He was still seething over the deception. His voice was sharp as a blade. "Chief Magos, if I recall correctly, were you not meant to be undergoing extensive repairs for a serious mechanical failure these past six months?"
The Chief Magos stiffened.
The Fabricator General had 'committed suicide out of fear of punishment.' If that was believable, then surely his own 'malfunction' should be as well.
But Dukel had no patience for absurd excuses. He continued, "And yet here you stand, hale and whole. Have your repairs been miraculously completed?"
"I… the tech-priests under my command were able to restore functionality," the Chief Magos admitted hesitantly.
"How fortunate," Dukel sneered. "And yet, if I recall, your condition was deemed critical—requiring a full half-year of downtime. Are you telling me your priests have advanced the Omnissiah's science so far?"
The Chief Magos remained silent.
He neither wished to support the Primarch nor dared to openly oppose him. Before today, deception had sufficed. He and his allies had simply claimed a 'mechanical failure.' But now? The Fabricator General was dead, and the Mechanicus needed new leadership. If he did not seize the moment, Gris would ascend, inheriting not just the Fabricator General's title but his entire treasury.
Yet fabrications could only stretch so far.
Dukel's patience snapped. "Worm! When the Imperium needed you, you were 'malfunctioning.' Yet now, when power is at stake, you stand before me, miraculously repaired. Did the Omnissiah Himself bless your restoration? Did your tech-priests become divine overnight? Or have you come to claim the Fabricator-General's throne?"
The Chief Magos remained silent.
But his intentions were clear.
He might not have craved power, but the vast resources of the Fabricator General's office were another matter entirely.
Finally, he spoke, voice measured. "Lord Dukel, with the Fabricator General's passing, I am the most qualified candidate to take his place."
Dukel scolded, "I sense only ambition and greed within you. A maggot like you—entrusting the Mechanicus to your hands would be a dereliction of duty, a betrayal of our species' future."
"What does the transfer of power within the Mechanicus have to do with you, my Lord?" the Chief Magos countered. "The Martian Covenant stipulates that the Imperium shall not interfere with the internal sovereignty of Mars."
Boom!
The moment the Chief Magos finished speaking, an explosion erupted within his augmented body. A searing fireball burst forth, blasting apart layers of ceramite plating and exposing charred circuitry and sparking cables.
Before the gathered assembly, the Chief Magos's frame convulsed before going into emergency shutdown, his form collapsing onto the cold metal floor.
Dukel turned to the Lord Regent. "Guilliman, what just happened?"
"A catastrophic systems failure." Guilliman observed the fallen Tech-Priest with detached scrutiny. "It seems this was not an exaggeration—his body truly was compromised."
Despite the grim situation, satisfaction welled within the Primarch. Finally, he was keeping pace with Dukel.
Moreover, the Mechanicus leadership was rife with self-serving parasites, far more concerned with hoarding power than fulfilling the sacred duty of humanity's restoration.
"Such extensive damage," Guilliman continued, "will take no less than half a standard Terran year to repair."
Dukel nodded. "Unfortunate. It appears this candidate will be unable to partake in the upcoming election for the new Fabricator-General. A pity."
"Indeed," Guilliman agreed, though his tone carried no true sympathy.
"Lord Raskian, how could you succumb to darkness?"
"Who slew you? I swear vengeance!"
Barely had the Fabricator-General fallen before another figure arrived—a senior Tech-Priest of the conservative faction.
Only recently, this Magos had been poisoned in battle. By some miracle, he had recovered within the sanctums of the medicae facilities.
Yet as he took in the scene before him, the assembled Tech-Priests and Lords of the Imperium regarded him with unreadable expressions.
An uneasy silence settled.
The ruling Magos finally became aware of the unnatural atmosphere. His mechanical eyes swept across the remains of the Fabricator-General—his body twitching with arcs of residual energy—and the shattered husk of the Chief Magos.
His augmetic voice modulator stuttered to a halt.
"I... Excuse me, but what has transpired here?" he asked cautiously.
This was not the situation he had anticipated on his way.
Something was wrong.
The Primarchs turned their gaze upon him, their presence heavy.
"Ruling Magos, we were informed that you had been poisoned," Guilliman intoned. "That you were receiving treatment even now."
"Praise the Omnissiah," the Magos replied solemnly. "By His divine grace, I have recovered."
Dukel regarded him keenly. "Of course, I trust you. You shed blood in the Sage War for the Imperium and suffered grievous injury. It is a relief to see you whole."
The ruling Magos inclined his head, reassured.
But then Dukel continued, his voice as cold and absolute as an executioner's blade. "Unfortunately, your miraculous recovery was not a blessing of the Omnissiah—but the taint of Chaos. Your affliction was not cured; it was transformed. The corrupted Master Forger orchestrated this deception to ensnare you into the grasp of the Ruinous Powers."
"Impossible!"
Before he could utter another word, the Magos' body betrayed him.
A network of sickly purple veins spread across his flesh, corruption manifesting in real-time. He tried to speak, but his throat tightened—choked by an unseen force.
His gaze darted to Dukel, aghast.
The Primarch had struck him down in plain sight, without hesitation or secrecy.
"Ruling Magos, are you feeling unwell?" Dukel asked, his tone one of mock concern.
Then, shifting his gaze to the incapacitated Fabricator-General, he added, "And your machine failure—how severe is it, I wonder?"
Finally, Dukel swept his piercing gaze across the assembled high-ranking Tech-Priests of Mars. One by one, they averted their eyes, heads bowed in submission.
Dukel nodded in satisfaction. "Gris, my friend," he declared, "you are the candidate whom all desire."