Chapter 88: Blood Sacrifice to the Divine Emperor!

Dukel tore off the remains of his power armor, revealing his scarred yet powerful physique. His muscles, honed through centuries of battle, rippled with restrained strength. His armor, once a proud bastion of ceramite and adamantium, now lay in ruins, no longer able to offer protection. Instead, it had become a hindrance.

"Come then!" he bellowed.

The figure wreathed in a sanguine aura did not react with anger at the Primarch's defiance. Instead, a predatory interest flickered in his eyes, as if savoring the moment.

Dukel wasted no more words. In a blink, he surged forward, striking at his foe. The moment their weapons met, a flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes.

His opponent's strength and skill were his equal.

The Primarch's battle-honed instincts flared with exhilaration. If ever there had been a warrior worthy of being called his perfect adversary, it was this being standing before him. Their weapons clashed in a furious whirlwind, each strike countered, each feint anticipated.

Blow after blow, they exchanged attacks at speeds that defied mortal comprehension. Their martial prowess had reached its zenith, their strength and agility perfectly matched. For a time, neither could gain an advantage.

"I am surprised a warrior of your caliber kneels before the Blood God," Dukel said, his voice sharp with both curiosity and scorn. He sought to unsettle his foe, to disrupt his rhythm. Yet his question was genuine.

Khorne, the God of War and Slaughter, demanded strength, but true warriors were solitary by nature. The more perfect a warrior became, the less likely they were to submit to another.

Sanguinius and Dorn had resisted the temptations of the Ruinous Powers. It was not brute force or the so-called majesty of a god that commanded true warriors, but something far greater.

"Spare me your petty tricks, Dukel. You and I both know we seek only one thing—battle in its purest form."

Dukel nodded in acknowledgment. "I underestimated you."

He had come to understand his opponent in the span of their clash. To try and shatter his focus with words had been unworthy.

Then, in an instant, Dukel pivoted and sprinted away.

The blood-wreathed warrior gave chase.

As he closed the distance, Dukel suddenly turned and struck with a blade already poised for the killing blow.

CLANG!

The warrior blocked, but the force sent him skidding across the blood-soaked dunes, his feet carving deep furrows in the crimson sand.

Seizing the advantage, Dukel lunged forward.

"Hahaha!" The blood-cloaked warrior laughed even as he retreated, reveling in the ferocity of their duel.

From his belt, he drew a short axe and hurled it at Dukel, the weapon spinning like a streak of red lightning.

Dukel had no time to dodge. He raised his weapon in a desperate parry, absorbing the impact.

Again, they clashed. Again, the battle reached a deadlock.

Every strike mirrored the other. Every movement countered. Every ounce of strength matched. Their battle was without end, a struggle between titans whose bodies knew no fatigue.

Were it not for their distinct fighting styles, Dukel might have believed he was battling his own reflection.

Was this not what he had always sought?

A voice echoed within him—not from his opponent, but from the depths of his own mind.

Here, in this endless battlefield, where the air reeked of blood, where the land was drenched in crimson ichor, where war was eternal...

Had he not found perfection?

A battle of equals, a contest of pure skill and strength, a fight where blood was shed at arm's length.

The Imperium? Humanity? What did they matter?

Why concern himself with the burdens of mortal affairs? Why be shackled by duty? Was this not the ultimate freedom—to fight without restraint, without obligation?

What did the galaxy matter? What did the fate of mankind mean? Hope, despair, the laughter of children, the endless bureaucracy of the Imperium...

They were nothing.

He had entered this world alone. He needed no one. Only his blade.

Let all other concerns fall away. Let him revel in the purity of slaughter. Let him fight not for cause, not for duty, but for blood alone.

The voice urged him on, whispering seductively, like a tide rising to consume him.

A haze of crimson clouded Dukel's vision, draping his sight in a blood-red shroud.

Their battle raged for eight days and nights.

Then, without warning—

The power of the blood-cloaked warrior surged.

Yet such an abrupt increase in strength was not a boon. His precision faltered, his rhythm broke. And in that moment, he left an opening.

Dukel seized the opportunity.

SCREEEECH!

His chainsword shrieked, its adamantium teeth rending flesh and ceramite alike, carving a gaping wound into his foe's chest.

"Hahahaha!" The blood-cloaked warrior roared with laughter, unfazed by the grievous wound. He swung his massive blade in retaliation, sending Dukel sprawling across the crimson sands.

Yet he did not pursue.

Instead, he stood, grinning.

"You have surprised me, Dukel."

Dukel spat blood into the sand. A deep wound marred his chest, but his body was already knitting itself back together, his Primarch physiology repairing the damage.

"You call this a fair duel?" he snarled. "You are no warrior. You are but an instrument of the Blood God!"

A raw fury surged within Dukel. He rose from the blood-soaked ground, his psychic power flaring. The wound on his chest closed in mere moments.

He prepared to strike once more, but his opponent raised a hand.

"Why continue? You have seen my power, Dukel. But your true enemy is not me."

Dukel's gaze darkened. "Who, then?"

"The entire galaxy. The infinite stars. Every warrior, past and present, shall fall before you. Say the word, and they shall be yours to conquer."

Dukel hesitated. His mind flooded with visions—endless battle, eternal war, the thrill of combat unchained. The sky ran red, the worlds burned, and he stood among the carnage, free at last.

"Only blood, as it should be!" he whispered.

"Then say it. Speak your heart's desire!"

Dukel's lips parted.

"Blood!" he roared.

"Again! Blood what?!"

"Blood sacrifice!"

"Yes! Blood sacrifice to whom?!"

The blood-cloaked warrior leaned in, his anticipation reaching its peak, waiting for the words he longed to hear.

Dukel grinned.

"Blood sacrifice to the Emperor!"

The blood-cloaked warrior faltered. "What—?!"

But it was too late.

Dukel's psychic might surged. His eyes burned with golden fire.

"Did you think you were the only one who could cheat?!"

A sphere of radiant light erupted from his palm.

In an instant, golden sunlight pierced the blood-stained sky, searing away the crimson haze.

And the desert was bathed in the Emperor's wrath.

...

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