"This is a Great Unclean One of Nurgle," the Librarians observed through their psychic sight, exchanging uneasy glances.
It was only now that they truly grasped the immense power wielded by this mighty daemon.
The Forgotten Messenger, already blessed by Nurgle, held the status of a formidable daemon prince. Yet the think tanks realized in horror that the disparity between daemon princes and Great Daemons was akin to the gap between humans and microscopic organisms.
If it had been the Forgotten Messenger alone, they might still have dared to deploy numerous Astartes and heavy firepower to eliminate him.
But now, in the face of the Great Unclean One known as Lymbas, they were utterly powerless.
After extensive calculations, simulations, and precise execution of coordinated decapitation tactics, they had exploited a fleeting moment of negligence to breach a gap in the zombie horde surrounding him.
Yet, as quickly as the gap was made, it was filled again by more pestilent undead.
Despite the vast expenditure of resources, manpower, and ammunition, all they had managed to do was eliminate a handful of expendable zombies.
"This isn't even the full war potential of a Chaos Daemon," one of the Librarians murmured, despair sinking into his voice. "We may need to summon reinforcements from the nearby sector just to hold the line."
Through the psychic relay, the battlefield played out in grim detail.
The Great Unclean One loomed like a mountainous heap of bloated flesh, surrounded by his putrid entourage and choking clouds of pestilence. Despite his lumbering gait, nothing could impede his advance.
Bolter fire and artillery bombardments, the pride of humanity's arsenal, had no discernible effect. Every obstacle crumbled before his power. On this battlefield, he was the inexorable tide, the storm, the master of annihilation.
Mortal warriors were utterly outmatched.
"The situation is deteriorating rapidly," said Dukel, his expression grave as he studied the reports streaming in through the mind network.
Under the think tanks' instructions, he held the last line of defense—a hastily fortified position carved into the heart of a mountain, reinforced with solid rock and wards inscribed by Ecclesiarchy priests to repel Chaos corruption.
While the line stood, psychic and daemonic incursions could be mitigated. Yet through his psychic link, Dukel could clearly perceive the growing chaos on the battlefield.
The expeditionary force was stretched thin and faltering. The vox-channels were flooded with desperate cries for reinforcements from beleaguered firebases.
"The Emperor's warriors are still fighting with all their might. How can I remain idle?" Dukel declared.
"No, I can't!"
"I must act!"
Before Dukel could move, Commissar Kane stepped forward, blocking his path. "No, my lord, you mustn't!"
"The think tanks have devised the most logical defense plan. Your presence here ensures the morale and survival of our forces!" Kane pleaded, his tone desperate.
The Commissar knew from instinct that this Primarch was no ordinary leader. Dukel radiated the raw, unrelenting aggression of a true warlord—a trait even more intense than any berserker Kane had ever encountered.
Though Kane had faced countless horrors, from ork warbosses to daemonic incursions, nothing had prepared him for the overwhelming pressure of restraining a Primarch.
"The best defense is a strong offense," Dukel said with a wry smile, clapping Kane on the shoulder. "Commissar, surely you understand that?"
"If I step forward and annihilate the daemons, this line will be secured!"
But Kane refused to yield, throwing himself into Dukel's path.
"You are the focus of Nurgle's forces! If you leave, the fortress and all those inside it could fall!" Kane shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
Behind them, the fanatical guards of the Second Legion remained impassive. To them, Dukel's word was absolute. They would march into the Warp itself if he commanded it.
Seeing no alternative, Kane latched onto the Primarch's leg, his voice rising in pitch and urgency.
"Your Highness, you cannot leave! Humanity depends on you staying here!"
Dukel sighed, exasperated by the Commissar's persistence. "Fine, I won't go. But how long do you think this defense line will hold?"
Kane hesitated, unsure how to answer.
Dukel continued, "The outer defenses are already collapsing. The hordes are too numerous, and Lymbas is unstoppable. Once the enemy establishes psychic teleportation arrays, they'll bypass the entire line and strike directly at the fortress!"
"Isn't the plan to weaken them first with this defensive line?" Kane asked, confused.
"It's a flawed strategy," Dukel said firmly. "The retreat is happening too quickly. Instead of weakening the enemy, we're ceding key terrain. If they secure this area, it's over."
The Commissar fell silent, unable to refute the Primarch's logic.
"So, what's the alternative?" he asked.
"We move to Tactic Two," Dukel said with a grin.
"Tactic Two?"
"Yes," Dukel replied, eyes gleaming. "My tactic."
Before Kane could respond, the earth-shattering roar of thermobaric charges detonating shook the ground.
Several of the Second Legion guards had blasted a massive breach in the defense line, sending debris flying. The air was filled with acrid smoke and the foul stench of decay.
"Your Highness! What are you doing?!" Kane shouted, his voice breaking as he stared at the destruction.
"Let the daemons come," Dukel said, a manic grin splitting his face. He tapped his temple. "The Primarch's mind is sharper than any cogitator."
"And my calculations tell me this—" Dukel's voice boomed.
"It's time to use super strength!"