"What?! The Tau fleet has retreated?!"
Dukel could scarcely believe what he was hearing.
After an intense void engagement—or more accurately, a massacre—every remaining force abandoned by the Tau had been exterminated, their deaths adding to the honor of the Imperium's loyal warriors.
Pride swelled in every Imperial heart. The soldiers stood tall, grins splitting their battle-worn faces. They had trusted in their Primarch, but none had expected that a single Sword-class frigate could so easily outmatch a Tau fleet numbering over 4,000.
Though most of the slain were the subjugated auxiliaries of the Tau Empire, warriors remained warriors.
Spoils of war were plentiful. Captured vessels, weapons, and technology—officially forbidden by the Imperium—now lay in the hands of the victorious. With the Navy's resources stretched thin, such restrictions could hardly be enforced. The Tech-Priests of the Mechanicus, their optical lenses gleaming with avarice, eagerly examined their newfound prizes.
All that was needed was a fresh coat of paint and some internal modifications, and suddenly, alien technology ceased to exist. What xenos technology? No, these were clearly loyal, refurbished Imperial vessels!
Archmagos Gris ran a reverent hand across the deck plating of a captured Tau cruiser, as if caressing the cheek of a lover. A revelation struck him.
He had once been a devout artisan of the Omnissiah, spending centuries on forge worlds constructing mighty warships for the Imperium.
But now? Now he realized the inefficiency of such labors. Why build a fleet when one could simply take one?
Who would dare call him disloyal for reclaiming and repurposing these ships in the Emperor's name?
Meanwhile, the mortal auxilia reveled in their triumph. Some could already picture the envious glances of their comrades upon their return. What had begun as a mundane archaeological expedition had become a venture of unimaginable profit. They had departed in a mere frigate and were returning with an entire flotilla of seized warships.
Loyalty? Honor?
"Praise His Highness, the Primarch Dukel! Even the humblest warrior may earn legendary glory under his command!"
"Were it not for his decisive leadership, we would never have seized this victory!"
"But why did the Tau suddenly withdraw? Was this also within His Highness' calculations?"
Murmured speculations rose among the troops, but their excitement soon drowned out such concerns. It was far better to bask in victory than to dwell on unanswered questions.
All were in high spirits—save for one.
Dukel himself.
What in the Emperor's name were the Tau thinking?
Had the commander of their fleet suffered head trauma? First, they had attacked him unprovoked. Then, just as suddenly, they had fled.
Was this some elaborate jest?
The more Dukel pondered, the angrier he became. Had age dulled his ability to comprehend the whims of younger species? Were the Tau truly so deranged that they derived amusement from taunting the Emperor's own son?
Even a Great Daemon of Slaanesh would not be so audacious!
No. This could not stand.
"Captain, plot the Tau fleet's trajectory. We are giving chase!"
Dukel's voice was cold with barely contained fury as he barked the order over the vox.
The gathered Imperial soldiers, still counting their spoils, froze in place. A few exchanged uncertain glances.
"Your Highness... you wish to pursue them?" Gris asked hesitantly. He was no coward, but he could not ignore the impracticality of the situation.
They had just looted a fortune in war materiel.
From Gris' perspective, this was akin to hauling a cart full of priceless relics into a street brawl. It felt wrong.
"Of course!" Dukel snapped. "These xenos had the audacity to assail me within the Emperor's domain, and they think they can run?"
Gris sighed. He understood the Primarch's rage.
To any son of the Emperor, an unprovoked attack by aliens was an insult beyond measure. Even Lord Guilliman might be blinded by fury at such an offense. And Dukel was not known for restraint.
The Tau had made a grievous error.
Elsewhere, a shadow moved in the void.
Ancient beyond reckoning, Trazyn the Infinite stirred within his Blackstone fortress.
Though unable to locate the Imperial fleet's main force, Necrontyr technology had allowed him to trace the Primarch's probable course home.
"Master of the Second Legion," Trazyn murmured, reclining upon his throne. "I await your return."
A wry smile played across his deathless face. "As two of the galaxy's most discerning collectors, this promises to be a most fascinating encounter."
Activating the entropic field generators of his fortress, Trazyn sealed the system within a labyrinth of spatial distortions. Finding a single fleet amidst the vastness of the void was difficult.
But waiting?
Waiting was easy.
"This time," he mused, "not only shall I reclaim what you so rudely borrowed from my collection… I may just acquire a few new artifacts from you."
He relished the thought.
Meanwhile, his scouts relayed fresh intelligence—images of a battlefield still thick with the detritus of war.
"The Primarch engaged the Tau?" He analyzed the fragmented data. "Foolish, restless young races."
A nostalgic sigh escaped him. "We Necrontyr were once like them… impatient, ambitious, reckless. We too made costly mistakes in our haste. But time has tempered us."
He settled deeper into his throne, the stasis fields humming around him.
"I will wait. I have all the time in the galaxy."
Meanwhile, aboard a stolen Tau cruiser, Dukel's growling voice cut through the vox-net:
"All ships, full speed ahead! Ramming formation!"
The long pursuit was over. After months of tracking the Tau across dozens of systems, the Primarch's forces had finally cornered them.
As a massive Warp gate flared open, an Imperial fleet surged forth—cruisers and escorts charging headlong towards the outnumbered Tau.
CRASH!
The ramming prow of Dukel's flagship struck home, shearing through the nearest Tau vessel like parchment. The ship crumpled, split nearly in two.
"In the Emperor's name—slay the xenos!"
With a thunderous impact, Dukel leapt onto the enemy's shattered deck. His warriors followed, bolters roaring, the golden light of the Sky Eagle standard illuminating the carnage.
Outnumbered, the Imperial troops showed no hesitation. This was their duty. Their birthright.
Across the battlefield, Shadowsun cursed under her breath.
"Why do these humans insist on ramming everything?!"
In the grim darkness of the far future, no naval force utilized ramming tactics as frequently—or effectively—as the Imperium. Against Tyranid bioships, Necron tomb craft, Ork battle hulks—it mattered not. The Imperium rammed everything.
Even the fleets of Khorne, known for their brutality, relied more on overwhelming firepower than reckless charges.
Shadowsun forced herself to remain calm. Assessing the battlefield, her expression darkened.
"Another delaying action won't be enough."
She turned to her strategists. "Deploy more auxiliary forces. The main fleet must escape the Primarch. If we fail, we'll be trapped between him and the greater Imperial armada."
Her think tanks nodded, quickly relaying commands. None of them doubted that vast reinforcements lurked just beyond the Warp.
The Primarch's behavior made no sense otherwise.
What kind of leader would throw himself into the heart of an enemy fleet with nothing but a single frigate?
Only a fool—or a man playing a much grander game.
Their conviction was unshakable.
They would not fall for this trap.
Would they?
Hundreds of vessels from the so-called Tau Alliance surged forward in a desperate charge, their commanders fully expecting to die.
The main Tau fleet seized the opportunity and began a full retreat.
"You're running away?!"
Dukel was stunned. Were these xenos insane?
He had done nothing to provoke them—simply exploring an ancient city before making his return. Then, without warning, a fleet of young, arrogant aliens had ambushed him, an Imperial Primarch over ten millennia old. His frigate had nearly been obliterated in the attack.
He had an ailing father enthroned upon the Golden Throne, an elder brother with hair as white as ash, and more than a dozen incompetent younger brothers. And now, on top of everything, he was being assailed by these xenos upstarts?
And they thought they could just run away after such an insult? Did they think a Primarch of the Imperium was forged from mere clay?
Not since his resurrection had Dukel encountered a battle so utterly ridiculous.
"Stand and fight, cowardly xenos!" Dukel bellowed, seizing control of yet another Tau vessel and transmitting his challenge across the fleet-wide vox.
He was growing weary of this chase. The Tau's presence in the immaterium was faint—almost nonexistent. The moment they withdrew, pursuing them would become an arduous task even for him.
Were it not for the psychic signatures of their auxiliaries, even tracking them this far would have been impossible.
Upon receiving Dukel's transmission, Commander Shadowsun—Shas'o Shaserra, known as Yingyang to her troops—scoffed. Her suspicions had been confirmed. A cold smile touched her lips as she responded, voice steady and measured.
"You Imperials are nothing if not predictable. Do you think I've not faced your kind before? I know your so-called 'tactics' well."
Her contempt was evident. "Is this your grand scheme? I've heard that the Primarchs of the Imperium are the war gods of mankind, but you—you're nothing more than a brute."
With that, the vast Tau fleet executed yet another retreat before Dukel's eyes.
Dukel: "..."
He frowned. "Did I... set a trap?" The xeno's confidence was almost enough to make him second-guess himself.
A familiar voice interrupted his musings.
"Brother, it is likely your usual brand of barbarism that has led these aliens to misjudge the battle entirely," Magnus the Red mused, his tone laced with amusement. "Though, I must admit, this engagement has been equal parts terrifying and perplexing."
Magnus smirked. "And Dukel, my proud brother, you are being mocked—mocked by xenos, no less! Hah!"
The Sorcerer Primarch's laughter echoed across the vox. Few in the long and brutal history of the Imperium had ever dared to ridicule the Lord of the Second Legion to his face.
The moment Dukel turned his glare upon him, Magnus fell silent, straightening with an exaggerated air of seriousness.
Irritation forgotten, Dukel pressed forward, leading his forces to annihilate every last Tau left behind in their futile rearguard action. It was a slaughter.
"Fanatically loyal, aren't they?" one of the Astartes remarked as they surveyed the aftermath.
The auxiliaries of the Tau Alliance had fought to the last, hurling themselves at the Primarch with complete disregard for their own lives. Some had even strapped melta charges to their bodies, chanting "For the Greater Good" as they flung themselves into Imperial lines in a desperate bid to wound Dukel.
"You've seen too few wars," a veteran replied gruffly, driving his monomolecular bayonet into the heart of a wounded xeno. "Slaves always are."
The battle was over, but the war was far from won.
"Your orders, my lord?" the fleet captain inquired.
"We chase them," Dukel answered without hesitation. "We have only culled a fraction of these aliens. I will not stop until they are utterly annihilated. By the Emperor's will, I swear it! Every last xeno that dared to raise a weapon against the Imperium shall be purged! Stand with me, warriors of mankind, and claim victory!"
"In the name of Dukel! Victory for the Imperium!" came the resounding cry from his soldiers.
For any loyal Imperial, a Primarch was more than a mere commander—he was a demigod, the Emperor's will made manifest. To see such a being mocked by xenos was beyond insulting—it was a heresy that demanded retribution.
And retribution, they would have.
More than that, this was perhaps the weakest foe they had encountered in their expedition. Imperial casualties were negligible, their war supplies untouched. They had even captured two cruiser fleets intact.
Morale was soaring, and the men were eager to fight.
Dukel nodded approvingly, seeing the hunger for battle in their eyes. "Spill their blood. Drench our blades in the ichor of these aliens."
"For the Emperor!"
Thus began the great chase across the stars. Dukel pursued, and Shadowsun fled.
"Deploy another rearguard! We cannot allow the Primarch to close the distance!" Shadowsun commanded.
Her forces obeyed. Once again, a desperate intercepting force threw itself into the Primarch's path.
"Burn them from the void!" Dukel roared, his fleet cutting through the opposition with brutal efficiency.
Again and again, the cycle repeated. Shadowsun ran, sending out token forces to delay her pursuer. Dukel chased, cleaving through them with unrelenting fury. The Tau commander quickly realized that by the time the next intercepting force was deployed, Dukel had already closed in even further.
"How is he catching up so quickly?!" Shadowsun growled, frustration mounting. "Continue the retreat!"
"Still running?!" Dukel bellowed. "For the Imperium!"
Shadowsun: "Still chasing?! Deploy more forces!"
Dukel: "You cannot flee forever!"
Shadowsun: "More rearguard!"
By the end, Dukel had captured more Tau warships than Shadowsun had left under her command. The Imperials had amassed a fleet larger than what the Tau had initially brought into battle.
In a desperate maneuver, Dukel ordered the consciousness of servitors to be transferred into these vessels, creating temporary acting captains to maintain control over his ever-growing armada.
At last, Shadowsun realized she could not win this war of attrition.
"Commander, how close are we to the coordinates provided by our... allies?" she asked.
"We are near, Commander."
Shadowsun allowed herself a smirk. "Then let the Primarch come. Our dark allies have something special prepared for him."
She had lost much—too much. The entire slave fleet had been sacrificed.
But if it meant the end of an Imperial Primarch? It was a price worth paying.
Meanwhile, aboard Dukel's flagship—
"My lord, we can no longer track the Tau fleet," his captain reported. "They have activated some form of subspace signal interference."
Dukel's brow furrowed. "The auxiliaries must have been wiped out. Without their psychic presence, tracking the Tau will be... difficult."
Just as he considered his next move, the captain hesitated before speaking.
"My lord... we have detected a Tau-occupied star system nearby."
Dukel's eyes narrowed. "Then what are we waiting for? Full speed ahead! We shall bring fire and ruin to their wretched kingdom! In the name of the Holy Emperor, we shall set their stars ablaze!"
"For Dukel! For the Imperium! Burn the xenos!" came the thunderous cry of his warriors, eager for the slaughter to come.
The warriors of the Imperium tightened their grips on their weapons, their voices rising in a thunderous war cry. Even the Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, clad in their augmented armor, brandished their sacred weaponry, ready to march to war. A campaign of annihilation awaited—a battle that would see the xenos scourged from the stars and a victory that would be etched into the annals of Imperial history.