This is the bonus chapter for reaching 1800 Powerstones.
--
The four Primarchs simultaneously looked at the Warmaster who was about to be executed. The power of the four Chaos Gods surged within him, just like Horus all those years ago.
A path lay before Abaddon; as long as he completely accepted the gifts of the four Gods, he could turn the tide.
He could slay these four Primarchs, allowing the rebellion left unfinished ten thousand years ago to be completely fulfilled by his hands.
However,
I refuse!
The power of the four Gods churned within his body, attempting to break through the dam of his will.
They whispered softly, guiding him patiently; they roared loudly, threatening and intimidating; they writhed and moaned, seducing and enticing.
They showed Abaddon visions of victory, painted the thrill of absolute rule, and promised him eternal glory.
"Get out of my body!" Abaddon roared. His eyes were bloodshot, the corners of his eyes splitting open as fresh blood slid down his cheeks.
The wounds that had just been healed by the life force tore open once again, looking even more hideous than before.
Abaddon had never truly been loyal to anyone, and that included the Chaos Gods. He was loyal only to himself.
If he completely accepted the gifts of the four Gods, then even if he won in the end, he would be nothing more than a puppet of Chaos.
How could he, Abaddon, ever submit to being beneath anyone else?
Horus was forced to accept it, and Horus died.
Those pieces of trash calling themselves Daemon Princes accepted it, and they became the stringed puppets of the Gods, dancing comically in the Warp.
"Four Gods, you must understand: unlike your pathetic Warp daemons, I, Abaddon, am never your puppet."
"Did you think I would act like a dog, wagging my tail and begging for the scraps you throw at me?!"
His voice grew louder and louder, finally transforming into a thunderous roar: "Don't make me laugh!"
Having rejected the blessings of the four Gods, the Warmaster gasped heavily for air as the powers of Chaos rapidly withdrew from his body.
In Abaddon's desolate heart, a sudden, heroic grandeur of a dying legend surged. He ignored the fatal wounds on his body and burst into hearty laughter.
"Hahaha, besieged by four Primarchs! This is a feat not even my father accomplished. I never expected that I, Abaddon, would possess such fortune to endure this tribulation."
"Come," he said, his voice hoarse yet incomparably clear. "Do it."
He, Abaddon, might die here today.
But he was absolutely no one's puppet. He was the undefeated Warmaster Abaddon, the Imperium's greatest enemy, the man capable of setting the entire galaxy ablaze.
A strange light flashed in Sanguinius's eyes, and the Lion's brow lost its contempt.
Zeke looked at Abaddon with gratification. Finally acting a bit like a Warmaster. Since that's the case...
"Guilliman, stop just standing there watching. Come on, join the battlefield with me."
Hearing this, Guilliman, who had been hiding in Abaddon's blind spot, sneakily stuck out a foot.
That foot protruding from the shadows precisely hooked Abaddon's ankle.
Abaddon pitched forward, his face smashing fiercely into the ground in a spectacular faceplant. The air was instantly filled with a joyous atmosphere.
The sound of combat boots stepping across the deck... it was the final judgment of four Primarchs upon a man who had completely lost the power to resist.
Each Primarch greeted the downed Abaddon with their signature moves. Screams echoed one after another.
"Zeke, you have no martial ethics! I just rejected the blessings of the four Gods! Shouldn't you show some respect and propose a one-on-one duel or something?!"
"Abaddon, rejecting the four Gods' blessings did make me think a little more highly of you. But honestly, even if you had accepted it, it wouldn't have made a single difference. The four of them combined wouldn't necessarily be able to beat the four of us."
Abaddon's health bar was truly unyielding. With only a single drop of HP left, he forcefully endured the attacks of the four Primarchs.
Abaddon outright ignored the attacks of the Primarchs and doggedly bit onto Zeke, refusing to let go.
But Zeke had become stronger than before. Abaddon barely dodged Zeke's holy arrow, only to be slashed by the Emperor's Sword, opening another wound.
The more he fought Zeke, the more Abaddon felt a sense of exhilaration in his heart, as if a knotted breath had finally been smoothed out.
Abaddon finally knew the reason for his recent lethargy and depression.
It turned out that the act of fleeing from Cadia had always been stuck like a thorn in his heart.
He had used countless excuses to cover up that fear. He had fooled everyone, and almost even fooled himself.
From that moment on, he had already lost.
But now, he faced that fear directly. He stood before Zeke, stood before the absolute certainty of death, and he did not retreat. Therefore, the one who won in the end was still him, Abaddon.
Abaddon chuckled until a surge of fresh blood made him choke violently. His knees could finally no longer support him.
Those knees, which had once trampled over the corpses of comrades on Isstvan III, which had once stood proudly amidst the ruins of Cadia, fell heavily onto the deck.
His eyes lost focus, and everything before him dissolved into a blur of light and shadow.
Abaddon's very last drop of HP finally began to tremble. He was about to welcome his own death.
"He cannot die yet."
The voice sounded like it was coming from very far away, muffled and distorted. Abaddon recognized it as Guilliman's.
"Dying in this place would not maximize his value." The Imperial Regent's voice carried its usual unyielding rationality.
"He should die under the watchful eyes of everyone. A grand execution, broadcast live across the entire Imperium. Every single planet should witness Abaddon's end with their own eyes."
Abaddon snorted dismissively in his heart. Well, aren't I just the luckiest man alive in three lifetimes? His mouth twitched, seemingly wanting to mock them, but his lips no longer obeyed him.
"Indeed." That was Sanguinius's voice, gentle and compassionate, yet similarly carrying some profound calculation.
"Abaddon is not just a man; he is a title. From the children to the elderly, everyone from the top to the bottom of the Imperium knows he is its greatest enemy."
"If we can execute him before the entire Imperium, it will broadcast a signal to the entire universe."
"This is the failure of Chaos," Guilliman picked up the thread, "and the victory of the Imperium."
"You are playing with fire," the Lion's voice interjected. "Do you not see that the four Gods are still watching him? As the Warmaster of Chaos, the Warp forces will not abandon him."
"So what?"
Abaddon's eyelids trembled. He couldn't see clearly who was speaking; the voice sounded like it came from very, very far away.
"Isn't other factions trying to stop us exactly what we want?" It was Angron. "In the past, it was always Chaos taking the initiative to attack us."
"But by possessing Abaddon, we can use him as bait."
"This way, the initiative rests in our hands. Not only can we repel the incoming Chaos forces, but we can even take it a step further—like launching a counter-offensive into the Warp." Angron's voice was exceptionally clear, exceptionally rational. "My World Eaters will do it at all costs."
"Abaddon, you still have a chance. Pray your teammates are competent, otherwise you might be on your way to see your dear old dad." Zeke pulled out a Potion of Healing.
Abaddon felt something touch his lips; it was the rim of a glass bottle.
A few drops of liquid slid down his throat, and death began to recede from his body.
And after that, Abaddon couldn't hear anything anymore.
--
Next Goal = 1950 Powerstones.