2nd Primarch

Chapter 69: Brand New Chainsaw Sword



The God-chosen Champion opened his consciousness, embraced the power of the devil, and felt the energy filling his body.

This glorious space battle, which should have been dedicated to the Blood God, was utterly destroyed by the Primarch's extreme brutality.

The ceremony meant for the Blood God was forced to stop. The Champion now had to use the blood and skulls of Imperial soldiers in close combat to regain his dignity.

"Sacrifice blood to the Blood God, and skulls to the Skull Throne!"

Suddenly, a loud noise erupted from outside as the Primarch's guards kicked down the heavy metal door.

With a resounding crash, the brute force carrying immense kinetic energy sent the entire door flying.

The God-chosen Champion, waiting for the arrival of the expeditionary corps in the core area, launched a surprise attack the moment the door was broken, hoping to catch the enemy off guard.

Excitement and madness flickered in the Champion's eyes. In this desperate assault, it seemed as if even the Blood God was pleased with his bravery. His strength surged to its fullest potential.

His strength was immense, his speed unparalleled, and his timing perfect...

But then, a massive hand appeared before him, seized his head with ease, and with unimaginable force, slammed his skull into the wall.

His helmet shattered, his solid head crumpled into pulp, and his body was flung aside like discarded refuse.

"Keep going."

The Primarch's voice was cold, without inflection, as if his attack had been nothing more than routine.

"Your Highness, there seems to be something wrong with this weapon." A Primarch guard spoke up.

A psychic energy so thick it could almost be touched emanated from his hands. He carefully retrieved the demonic blade from the ground and presented it to the Primarch.

"Is it a weapon inhabited by demons?" Dukel inquired, showing mild interest as he casually took the blade in his hand.

Instantly, a maddened roar echoed in his mind. Violent emotions bombarded his consciousness— the demon inhabiting the blade screamed with fury, attempting to destroy the Primarch's mind, erode his soul, and seize his will.

Dukel, however, felt nothing. If anything, he was tempted to laugh.

"Is this the extent of the darkness in your heart, devil?"

The demon's screams faltered, as if hearing the Primarch's calm words. Then, in an instant, Dukel's will surged back, overwhelming the demon with an onslaught of pure malice.

This was not the negative energy of the Warp, but the raw, unbridled evil from deep within the human soul.

In this world, all things have two sides. To transcend mortality, one must bear the consequences of darkness that mortals can scarcely imagine.

The Second Primarch had once lost control to such darkness, and both gods and Orks had been merged in a violent frenzy. The Emperor had been imprisoned forever on the Golden Throne, and even the Four Chaos Gods, had they not been steeped in this darkness, might have become gods of life, courage, wisdom, and love.

Throughout his journey, Dukel had endured darkness as great as the power he wielded.

At that moment, the demon blade screeched in agony, its consciousness filled with hatred, resentment, despair, and sorrow. The demon seemed to writhe in malice, suffering eternal torment. Scarlet blood overflowed from the blade's surface, as if it were weeping.

Dukel gazed at the blade, its cries a twisted parody of grief.

He had initially considered using his power to annihilate it completely.

But then he thought: absorbing such a small demon would be like eating an enoki mushroom—neither satisfying nor nourishing.

His gaze shifted to the Hunter Chainsword in his hand. After the Primarch's resurrection from the throne, this Chainsword had accompanied him in countless battles. It had absorbed so much blood from Greater Demons that it had even begun to manifest a unique machine spirit.

"This chainsaw sword is quite convenient. Perhaps I'll feed it to the machine spirit," Dukel mused. It was an idea he had never tried before, and he was unsure of its feasibility.

Yet, Dukel's decisive nature meant that even if it failed, he would only lose the soul of a minor demon.

There were more demons than humans in the galaxy; there was no need to worry.

The fire of the soul ignited in Dukel's hands, melting the still-bleeding demon blade into a molten mass. The demon's soul howled in agony as it was absorbed into the flames, and Dukel poured it into the Chainsword.

"Buzz!—"

The machine spirit hummed with delight as the chainsaw powered up on its own, vibrating with excitement.

To an outsider, this would have seemed like a supernatural event, but here, in this world, it felt ordinary.

Dukel had once witnessed a Dreadnought on the battlefield, where the pilot had died and only the machine spirit remained, continuing to fight the demons.

Machine spirits—truly extraordinary.

To his surprise, Dukel's attempt was successful. Once the infusion was complete, the chainsword underwent a significant transformation. It grew heavier, more convenient to wield, and the over two-meter-long blade turned blood red.

As if it had inherited the demon's traits, blood oozed from the teeth of the blade—though it was a psychic illusion, not real blood.

The chainsword now looked far more ferocious, more imposing than before.

With the demon soul nourishing it, the machine spirit grew more emotional, taking on demonic traits. It was uncertain whether this was good or bad, but perhaps, in time, after drinking the blood of more powerful foes, the weapon would grow into something uniquely alive.

With renewed enthusiasm, Dukel wielded the new chainsword like a child with a new toy, slaughtering all the Khorne followers aboard the demon flagship.

The flagship was obliterated, and the Chaos Fleet's plan to ambush the expeditionary corps was completely thwarted.

In deep space, the Imperial fleet relentlessly pursued the remnants of the Demon fleet, turning them into fiery explosions in the empty void.

The pursuit lasted nearly a week, only ending when the radar could no longer detect any trace of the demon fleet.

With the fleet's defeat, the human worlds in the galaxy began sending signals to the expeditionary force.

Upon receiving a report from the intelligence department, Dukel returned to the Soul Fire and immediately ordered the fleet to lock onto the signal's coordinates and head to the world in distress.

As the fleet arrived, Dukel couldn't help but frown.

"Goodness, it's utter chaos. Every corner is filled with the rich negative energy of the Warp."

This world seemed lifeless, its surface soaked in blood. The smoke of war still lingered in the air.

Corpses hung on steel or sharp objects, blood dripping endlessly, never clotting.

Some of the steel structures had grown flesh and limbs, crawling like strange creatures among the ruins.

Had he not known there were survivors here, Dukel might have ordered the Soul Fire to launch a whirlwind torpedo, incinerating the planet's atmosphere, boiling the oceans into steam, and leaving only bare rock—a thorough cleansing of this cursed world.


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