The council hall was locked in a standoff, but inside the Primarch's lounge, the air was thick with tension.
Entering his brother's private quarters, Alpharius did not hesitate. He pushed the adamantium slab back into place, sealing the breach in the door once more. The Primarch moved with fluid speed; as the master of agents, he saw through traps at a glance—they could not hinder him. Holding a specialized scanner, he swept every corner of the room, searching for evidence of his brother's treachery.
Alpharius's search was incredibly efficient, yet as time ticked away, a sense of irritability began to gnaw at him. Bookshelves, desks, floor gaps, bedding, and curtains—he had scoured them several times but found no clues. Despite this, his heart held only urgency, not frustration or disappointment. Having lurked for over a decade, every suspicious corner of the warship was already under the control of his gene-sons; evidence could only exist here, in the Primarch's lounge.
Minutes and seconds passed. Alpharius searched repeatedly, exhausting every method, turning the room over several times. He had to be faster; the warriors of the Second Legion were on their way. If he had no direct evidence for the accusation, Solas would be proven innocent, and the subsequent reckoning would fall upon him and Blazkowicz. Alpharius knew well that the Emperor would favor Blazkowicz, while he himself would be made to take all the blame to appease the grievances of the Second Legion.
He turned to look around. The room was a shambles, and even the ceiling had been inspected. "Where is it?" Under immense pressure, Alpharius rubbed his chin. He thought with the speed of a supercomputer, recalling every shred of detail.
The unusual sensation he felt upon entering the room became clearer. When he first stepped in, Alpharius had sensed a distinct hostility. He had initially dismissed it, thinking it was a physical reaction triggered by a trap. But now, calming his agitation, he wondered: How could a trap radiate hostility?
"Found you!" he barked. A surge of momentum erupted from his body, whipping up a gale within the lounge.
A few more seconds passed, but there was no response, only the curtains swaying restlessly. The bluff had failed. Alpharius sat slowly on the steps of a bookshelf, his sharp gaze sweeping across every inch of his vision, wondering what he had missed. His legs shook slightly, his combat boots tapping rhythmically against the steps—a sound like the ticking of time echoing in the silent room.
After a long time with no results, he stood up, prepared for one more comprehensive search. He quickly checked the shelves again and moved past the statue—
Wait.
The Primarch stopped abruptly. He turned toward the statue of the Emperor and raised his scanner once more. The scanning light traveled up the statue's legs, projecting results onto his tactical terminal: molecular structure normal, appearance lifelike—the image of the Emperor as seen by a master sculptor. The statue was full of majesty and grit, leaning on a greatsword, a halo behind its head, eyes piercing and bright.
The results were identical to his previous scans. Before entering, he hadn't ignored such an obvious object; he had probed it multiple times already. But this time, a smile touched Alpharius's face. Standing before the statue, the Primarch realized the detail he had overlooked. His mission finally bore fruit.
He walked to the wall and picked up his power glaive. His ears twitched; Legion warriors had arrived outside. He had to move fast. Primarch-level strength erupted instantly. The power glaive, wreathed in flickering disintegration lightning, swept through the air. The Emperor's statue was severed at the shins and began to fall backward.
Phantoms flickered alongside the electric glow as the glaive moved in a dizzying blur. Before the statue could even hit the floor, it had been sliced into fragments. Alpharius reached out, grabbed the laurel wreath, and lifted the stone head of his father, the smile never leaving his face.
The doors were slammed open. Terminators and Dreadnoughts of the Second Legion stood at the entrance, everyone battle-ready, various targeting systems locked onto the intruder.
The person inside the Primarch's lounge had effortlessly slain half of the Primarch's guard. Judging by the marks at the scene, the Legion's most elite warriors had been unable to resist, all killed with single, lethal blows.
"Sons of Solas," the man, formerly known as the Legion's greatest martial artist, stood before the warriors. His voice was deeper than usual, and his face shimmered with light.
The warriors watched as their former brother transformed into another shape. His features became ordinary, his height slightly taller than a standard Space Marine, but his aura underwent a world-shaking change. It was a majesty and presence they had only seen in their Gene-Father and other Primarchs. For a moment, they forgot to fire, unable to believe their eyes.
"Do not make a futile sacrifice," Alpharius said, holding up the head of the Emperor. "Come with me to see my brother. The truth you crave is here."
The warriors lowered their bolters. The extraordinary aura combined with his words made the imposter's identity obvious—another Primarch.
"The Primarch stands above!" they murmured, their expressions complex. They knelt on one knee in the still-warm blood of their brothers, paying respects to a son of the Emperor. Since the imposter had revealed his true identity, the debt of their brothers' lives would never be repaid.
"Let us go," Alpharius said, stepping through the blood, his tone urgent. "We must hurry, or the Second Legion will suffer heavy losses. Their sacrifice was a matter of necessity."
Without waiting for the warriors to follow, the Primarch vanished into a streak of copper light, sonic booms blooming like white clouds around his form. The Space Marines hurried to catch up, knowing a reckoning awaited in the council hall.
"In the name of the King of Warriors!"
Bul-Kathos stood upon the stage, his barbaric roar filled with a primal terror and endless fury. He raised his left arm, his tactical terminal projecting the military mobilization authority signed by the Emperor himself to its maximum size. "By the Primarchs above, I exercise the power granted by Him! All members of the Second Legion, stand down!"
Many stopped in their tracks. Others acted as if they hadn't heard, gripping their weapons to continue executing their Primarch's orders.
Astra turned into a phantom. With a speed that surprised even Solas, he rushed to the weapon racks, striking a Legion warrior's knee with a spear butt.
"Any further defiance of military orders results in death!" a sharp voice cried out. By the time the warrior reacted, he was kneeling on the ground, a blue energy blade pressed against his neck.
"Do you wish to rebel?" Bul-Kathos's roar was like a gale, his question striking the hearts of the Second Legion warriors like a warhammer.
Rebellion! The word was too terrifying. Forget executing it; they didn't even dare think of it. Sure enough, the Second Legion's movements faltered; they did not want to be nailed to a pillar of shame. Some veteran Terran-born warriors raised their hands and stepped out, pulling their comrades back into line. Their pauldrons were engraved with the lightning eagle; having survived the purge of the Thunder Warriors, they knew exactly what the price of betrayal was.
Bul-Kathos turned directly to face the Primarch, questioning him without backing down: "Or do you want them to become like you?"
There was a hidden implication in his words that pierced Solas's heart, and his tone held no respect. His seemingly barbaric actions had shifted the focus from a personal dispute to the Legion itself, making every warrior a protagonist rather than a pawn of the Primarch. The hint was not subtle; many warriors sensed the suspicion of defection surrounding their father, and they looked at him with profoundly conflicted eyes.
Beep—Beep—
As the two sides faced off again, communications chimed simultaneously. Emergency messages flashed in the Legion's comms. Solas focused his mind, and as the visual data unfolded, his face instantly darkened. The "first man" of his Legion, the one he trusted most in his guard, was actually another brother.
How long had he been lurking?
Moreover, he was carrying the stone head—he had clearly discovered the secret and was rushing toward the council hall to reveal the truth that would lead to Solas's ruin.
He could wait no longer!
Solas looked up. The Doom Slayers and the Custodes were visibly relieved. His own sons were finishing the messages, and suspicion was quietly spreading.
"Presumptuous!" Solas roared. He vanished from the podium, a storm of wind and thunder trailing him as he struck at Bul-Kathos.
The Doom Slayers's reaction was staggering. Facing the killing strike of a Primarch, Bul-Kathos did not hesitate to swing his hammer and axe, meeting the attack head-on. He was sent flying backward, blood spraying from his arms. Though his weapons neutralized the disintegration field, the divine strength of a Primarch was not something an Astartes could easily withstand.
But Solas was the one surprised. His killing blow had been blocked by a brother's scion?
In the next instant, five Doom Slayers pressed forward. Dimensional light-blades sliced the air, their telepathic link making them move as one! In a flash, Solas was surrounded. He had underestimated the power of Blazkowicz's sons.
A mace swung down ruthlessly. One warrior barely managed to block it. As Solas prepared to change his move for the kill, a light-blade lunged at his armpit. Knowing the sharpness of those blades, Solas was forced to retract his offensive, his mace sweeping out to parry the Doom Slayer's assault.
"Sons of Moribas!" the Primarch's roar echoed through the hall. "Those loyal to me, take up your weapons! Attack them!"