"Abaddon… didn't think you'd end up like this.
Can you still hold on?"
Eden stepped up to the body that could barely be called humanoid anymore, then flicked another surge of biomantic power into it, keeping Abaddon alive.
To be honest, after so many years of "shearing Abaddon's wool," Eden had almost gotten used to the man. If Abaddon croaked, there'd be nothing left to fleece.
Eden could see Abaddon's stubbornness.
If he were willing to offer himself to the Chaos Gods, he could recover his strength in no time.
But Abaddon refused. He would rather let his life bleed away by inches than become Chaos' slave.
After clawing back the slightest bit of strength, he slowly raised his eyes.
"Savior… are you here to kill me, or to laugh at me?"
Abaddon's chest burned with fury and helplessness—especially after realizing he and the Black Legion had been toyed with by the gods.
Not long ago, Horus and Erebus had come to him, ordering him to submit, to hand over everything, and to take part in the Chaos Gods' "great plan."
The once–Luna Wolves company captain, the Despoiler—he had once been worthy to follow Warmaster Horus, the future Dark Emperor, to conquer the Imperium of Man.
That Emperor, that Accursed One, would also be stripped of all resistance under the "great plan," and the Imperium would no longer be able to withstand the Chaos Gods.
As for the "hope primarch," the Savior—what could he do once the Emperor's protection was gone?
That Savior could not stand alone against four great gods. He would inevitably fall under Chaos' onslaught—either kneel and submit, or die outright.
Abaddon hadn't agreed.
Especially not after seeing the ugly spectacle of Horus being puppeteered by the gods.
It was a humiliation to the Black Legion. The Chaos Gods treated them like pieces on a board—things to be moved at will.
"You're no longer the Horus I knew."
Facing the one who had once been father and brother to him, Abaddon gave Horus no courtesy at all.
"You're not fit to be called Warmaster. You're nothing but the gods' slave—weak, pathetic, fallen so low you keep company with that clown Erebus.
If you still have even a shred of courage, then resist their chains and come back to us!"
In Abaddon's eyes, the Horus who once brimmed with ambition—who had even "entrusted the future" to him at the moment of death—had long since died.
The thing standing before him now was only a cloned puppet, a stain on that name.
And yet… Abaddon still held a thread of hope.
"You dare judge me with the word 'weak,' Ezekyle?"
Horus was like an enraged beast, deaf to everything else.
The red glow of his black armor washed over a face twisted in savagery, veins bulging. "I gave you power and claw. I gave you glory—and you defy me? You ignore the gods' greatness?
I have returned. The galaxy will burn a second time—and the first to be swallowed by the flames will be you!"
Horus was terrifying.
Empowered by the gods, he eclipsed any primarch. Even the Emperor of old would not have been his match here.
He launched himself at Abaddon and the Justaerin guard. Every strike tore through ceramite and flesh.
That fallen thing slaughtered Chaos Terminators with his bare hands, one after another, and even Abaddon had no strength to resist.
The Despoiler's arm was ripped off. The Talon of Horus returned to its original owner.
Abaddon suffered still more grievous wounds, collapsed, and even warp-born power could not mend what had been broken.
Erebus humiliated him further—peeling away his face like a trophy.
"Pathetic. You're of no use anymore. You're only fit to die like a stray dog."
Then Horus and Erebus left.
They took the Blackstone Resonator with them.
And just as Abaddon believed he would die there…
The Savior appeared—unexpectedly.
But Abaddon no longer had the will to resist, nor the strength.
He only wanted the Savior to finish him quickly, rather than prolong the humiliation.
"Your crimes are countless. You deserve to die in agony."
Eden looked down at the Despoiler and spoke plainly.
This traitor to mankind could die in any manner and still have it be deserved.
Eden crouched slowly.
"But I've changed my mind. You can't die yet—at least, not now."
"What do you want?" Abaddon rasped, struggling to breathe, his voice shredded. "Whatever you do, I won't fear your torment. I have nothing left to lose."
"Do you want revenge?"
Eden's tone turned strangely coaxing.
He offered Abaddon one last chance.
The Despoiler still had value. Eden could squeeze one more harvest out of him—he could taste the hatred Abaddon held for the gods, deep enough to rot the soul.
More importantly, Eden needed to learn the Black Legion's deployment on Vigilus, to stop the Noctilith Crown from detonating.
Eden knew this: no one wanted that planet of Blackstone deposits to blow more than the Chaos Gods.
They were already working toward it—and they'd gotten a crucial piece of machinery from the Black Legion along the way.
Hearing those words, Abaddon slowly raised his head. In his eyes burned the fire of vengeance.
He had never wanted so badly to vent his wrath upon the gods.
"So you accept."
Eden nodded with satisfaction, feeding more life-energy into him.
"With your strength as you are now, you can't take revenge. But Diablo the Destroyer can help you.
He asks for nothing, and he won't interfere with your will. There's only one condition.
You take part in the Empyrean's eternal war…"
Eden produced a bloodstone and held it out before Abaddon, waiting for his choice.
Right now, Eden's authority as Diablo desperately needed a cadre of powerful Chaos warriors to fight in the warp.
Only then could that authority become sharper, more offensive—otherwise, in the future, he'd struggle to face the Chaos Gods head-on.
He couldn't rely on the Emperor's power forever. He needed to forge his own concept of war.
Compared to the Chaos Gods, Diablo the Destroyer was practically honest.
If the Chaos Gods were a coercive, permanent scam compound, then Diablo was a weapons dealer—with low-interest financing.
Defiance only cost you what you'd gained, plus a bit of interest.
Compared to the Chaos Gods, that was mercy.
But that was the price of being newly born. If Diablo wanted territory and faith in the warp, he needed better terms.
Eden trusted Abaddon to feel the contract contained within the bloodstone.
It was non-compulsory, and could be torn up at any time. That was how you treated top performers.
A god and his warriors were a relationship of mutual benefit—especially the elite, who were essentially the sales champions.
Only the Chaos Gods had grown accustomed to endless exploitation.
As for betrayal?
Eden believed that until the war in the Empyrean ended, Abaddon would keep hacking at the Chaos Gods with everything he had.
The man was stubborn to the bone—otherwise he wouldn't have kept launching crusades after defeat, more than ten times over.
"You've made the right choice. The Chaos Gods will regret not killing you sooner."
When Abaddon swallowed the bloodstone, Eden finally smiled.
He ordered the Adeptus Custodes to carry Abaddon away for treatment—and to extract whatever information they could.
Afterward, Eden would have new armor and weapons forged for the Despoiler, then cast him into the Chaos warp.
From that moment on, Abaddon would have nothing to do with the material galaxy.
Soon, Eden transmitted the intelligence about the Noctilith Crown to Vigilus, and boarded the Dreamweaver to head for the planet himself.
He would oversee the battle personally—and end every problem in one sweep.
And to stop the Noctilith Crown from activating, he had already dispatched a special unit into that region.
He only hoped… there was still time.
…
The Vigilus system.
An ugly scar all but tore this suffering system apart. Endless warp storms spun into one vortex after another.
Even the dullest of beings could hear the endless whispers and mournful cries in the void.
From afar, the system glittered with scattered firelight—wars erupting everywhere.
And new fleets kept arriving, piling weight onto the system, as though nearly all life could sense it: a war that had lasted for centuries was finally approaching its conclusion.
They raced toward Vigilus, terrified of missing the final opportunity—and the rich spoils that would follow.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
The combined fleets of the Savior and the Imperium's Emperor arrived in waves, blocking and hunting down xenos and heretic armadas within the system, preventing them from closing on Vigilus.
Above the planet, even more Imperial naval strength gathered, weaving multiple layers of defensive netting.
Thousands upon thousands of torpedoes continuously intercepted anything that tried to punch through.
Even within the warships themselves, fighting raged—Space Marines holding back clawed daemons.
As for the planet's surface…
Countless bursts of fire blossomed.
"For the Emperor!"
"Waaagh—!"
"Kill these monkeys!"
"Kill! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
Across basins as vast as seas between fortress-lines, defensive fronts and subterranean networks crisscrossed the land, as armies of every race and faction tore into one another.
At any moment, armor was split open, or headless bodies collapsed into the dust.
After unending years of war, the warriors' armor had long since rusted. Where plates had broken away, skin lay exposed to the chemical grit that filled the air.
That exposed flesh dried and dehydrated, but they didn't care—they were used to it.
Compared to those minor miseries, the bombardment of colossal vehicles and war machines was the true killer.
Thoom, thoom, thoom—
God-machines, Chaos engines, ancient colossi, and bio-titans rampaged across the battlefield, pouring out firepower.
But even vehicles and war engines couldn't last long here. Wreckage filled the valleys.
More debris—and more bodies—kept falling from the higher tiers above.
This was an apocalypse-scale war involving multiple species and factions, sprawling beyond measure.
Those with the initiative and the strongest armies reveled in unleashing slaughter and bloodshed.
No one could stop.
And yet, within one region held by the Black Legion, there was an eerie calm.
Enemies that approached were butchered by Chaos Raptors, Warp Talons, and packs of Heldrakes.
They held fast around a terrifying installation—the Noctilith Crown.
This was the territory commanded by Haarken Worldclaimer, one of the Black Legion's strongest Chaos Lords.
He had long controlled vast tracts of the northern Nachmund Gauntlet, and commanded immense armies and fleets.
Half the Black Legion's strength, in all but name.
Haarken Worldclaimer was best known for one thing: his reverence for Abaddon, and his role as the Despoiler's most effective mouthpiece.
He was adept at hijacking vox-networks and sonic projectors, scattering seeds of chaos, fear, and madness across a world.
He would even butcher the life on an entire planet—just to shatter the will of a region.
So the Black Legion could conquer more easily.
Now, his gloomy, hateful voice boomed across the airwaves:
"This planet belongs to the Despoiler of All Realms—Lord Abaddon! Kneel before him and swear fealty, or wait to be buried in flame!
In eighty days, we will grind this world beneath our boots!"
That was Haarken's signature performance.
Each time he reached a planet, he would drive his legendary weapon—the Helspear—into the ground.
Then he would use amplification arrays to broadcast threats meant to poison the enemy with terror.
But now, that intimidating voice kept repeating… and it made the Chaos Raptors' faces go dark.
They felt humiliated.
Because the recording wasn't theirs anymore.
It was the enemy's—and it was being played on loop.
A pure, unfiltered mockery.
Haarken had said those words eighty days ago. But the plan had stalled again and again—long past the promised deadline.
Now, hearing the recording again was shame, a public execution.
Worse, it had been blasting for days.
The Raptors' blood pressure was skyrocketing.
"Damn it! I'm going to skin those Blood Ravens bastards alive!"
A Chaos Raptor Terminator trembled with rage and humiliation. He wasn't the only one—every Raptor around him looked the same.
The Blood Ravens had slipped into their lines before and stolen plenty, including prized weapons.
They'd even disguised themselves as Chaos Raptors, ambushed isolated warriors, and stripped their armor clean.
The Raptors had tried more than once to hunt them down.
It never worked.
Those bastards would vanish, relocate, and start playing the execution broadcast somewhere else.
Ever since the Blood Ravens started running with the Savior and the Imperium's Emperor, they'd picked up that same style.
They did everything in the most insulting way possible—until their enemies went berserk, choking on rage.
The Blood Ravens had been specially augmented, equipped with all kinds of ancient technological relics and gear—better at hiding, better at escaping.
They weren't the best in a straight fight…
But they'd pushed infiltration and petty theft to an art form.
And they were proud of it.
After all—now they were stealing under the Emperor's personal edict.
That sense of achievement was unbeatable.
This time, the Blood Ravens had come to Vigilus under the Emperor's command, to coordinate with other forces.
To turn Haarken Worldclaimer's position into a complete circus.
And with the Machine-Goddess' help, they seized control of multiple amplification arrays, continuously hurling humiliation-broadcasts into the Chaos Raptors' lines.
"Testing, testing~"
The shameful execution recording suddenly cut out.
Then the Blood Ravens' Chapter Master, Gabriel Angelos, appeared brazenly atop a fortress—without a shred of caution.
Right in Haarken Worldclaimer's line of sight.
Gabriel looked straight at him, and his voice rang through the amplification arrays:
"Yo, isn't that our Eighty-Days Bro? How come you still haven't taken Vigilus?"
His tone dripped with mockery—sweet, oily sarcasm—instantly maxing out the hate meter.
"Blood Ravens thief!"
Haarken Worldclaimer immediately saw red.
His roar distorted the vox-channels around him.
He had never liked the Blood Ravens—
Centuries ago, when his fleet was fighting in the Eye of Terror, the Blood Ravens had taken the opportunity to "borrow" a few treasures.
Among them was the xenos star-chart known as the Akhien Scroll.
And now, those Blood Ravens thieves were sabotaging the Black Legion's critical plan—and trampling his pride into the dirt.
Unforgivable.
Bang!
Haarken lost his head.
He gripped the Helspear, the vicious turbine-jets on his back howling as he launched forward at sonic speed toward the fortress where Gabriel stood.
More Chaos Raptors ignited their mechanical wings, rising to encircle that region.
(End of Chapter)
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