Chapter 21
Blonsky awoke with a sharp intake of breath.
The air was wrong. Heavy. It burned in his lungs like ash and fire, and when his eyes darted open, what greeted him wasn't the clean white of a hospital ceiling but a horizon painted in blood-red and searing orange. The sky boiled as if alive, shifting and writhing like a wound that would not close.
He staggered to his feet, panic clutching his chest. Where the hell am I? His instincts screamed at him to run, but to where? There was no ground, not really—just a cracked, shifting landscape that seemed to build itself from the air, pieces of flesh and stone knitting together as if they'd always been there.
"...Christ…" he whispered, watching in disbelief as shapes stirred in the fog. They weren't men. They weren't animals. They were… things. Amalgamated flesh and bone, crawling upright on limbs that bent the wrong way, eyes pushing through skin where no eyes should be. They gnashed their teeth but didn't look his way, their existence almost blind, as though he was a shadow to them.
Blonsky forced himself to breathe. Keep moving. Don't look too long. He wandered, every step sinking into the fleshy soil that pulsed faintly under his boots. He didn't want to admit it, but this place felt alive. Alive and watching.
After what felt like hours, he came upon it.
A great pedestal rose out of the shifting landscape, impossibly tall, like a jagged tooth tearing up into the storm. Floating above it was something that made his stomach twist— a cocoon of living flesh, pulsating, dripping ichor in slow, steady streams. It called to him. Not in words, but in the beat of his chest, in the aching need in his bones.
His feet moved on their own.
"No…" he muttered, trying to resist, but every step carried him closer. And when he stood beneath it, staring into its grotesque glow, his body betrayed him.
Pain erupted.
He dropped to his knees, screaming as his flesh tore, reknit, and stretched. Bones cracked, skin bubbled, muscle expanded like boiling tar. His arms elongated, claws ripping through fingertips. His back split open with new layers of corded muscle. His screams echoed across the plane, and the horrors in the fog shrieked back in mocking chorus.
Hours—or what felt like hours—passed in torment. Until finally, the pain ebbed.
He rose. No longer a man. His breath came out as a guttural snarl, his reflection warped in the ichor below. His skin was mottled green and twisted, his body a fortress of muscle and sinew. He was monstrous. Hideous. And yet—he felt good. Strength hummed in him like a song. Unstoppable.
Blonsky—no, Abomination—grinned. "Hah… Look at me. Look at me now."
That's when the voice came.
It didn't speak from one mouth, but from dozens, layered and jagged, scraping at the inside of his skull. Just hearing it made his nose bleed, thick red dripping down his fanged jaw.
"Abomination…"
He staggered back, clutching his head. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
The cocoon pulsed. The voice grew louder, vibrating through the whole plane.
"I… am Voryx. The Burning Avarice."
The name seared itself into his mind, and he roared in pain.
The cocoon shuddered as if laughing. "Do not fear, my chosen. You are here because I will it. You are no longer merely Blonsky… no longer just a man. You are my avatar. My hand in the mortal realm. My Chaos Lord."
Abomination's growl echoed deep, half fear, half defiance. "I'm no one's dog. I didn't fight, bleed, and crawl my way here just to bow to some… thing hiding in a sack of meat."
The laughter came again, low and cruel. "Oh, but you already have. You would not draw breath without me. My essence flows through you. Even if you wished to resist… your soul belongs to me. Deny it, and you deny yourself."
Abomination froze. And though the words tasted like bile, he knew they were true. Deep down, beneath his bravado, he could feel it. A tether. A chain he couldn't break.
His fists clenched. "…Fine. So I'm yours. But don't think I'll kneel easy."
The cocoon pulsed brighter, almost pleased. "Good. Defiance. Hunger. Rage. These feed me well. You will lead in my name, Abomination. You will take what is mine. You will spill blood and harvest souls, for I require them to forge my daemons. And in return…"
The voice dropped lower, more intimate, curling into his ear like fire.
"…you will have strength. Enough to shatter your enemies. Enough to break the green beast who humiliated you."
Abomination's eyes widened. His lips curled into a monstrous grin. "The Hulk…" He could already see it—ripping Banner apart, proving once and for all who was stronger.
"Yes…" Voryx purred. "I taste your hatred. Let it grow. Let it consume you. Wreak havoc upon the mortal world. Every soul you tear down fuels me. Every scream hastens my rebirth. Go, Chaos Lord. Make this realm bleed."
Abomination dropped to one knee at last, his grin sharp and wicked. "Then give the order, Voryx. I'll burn their world in your name… and when I'm done, Hulk will be nothing but ash under my fist."
The cocoon throbbed with approval. Around them, the amalgamated daemons roared to the skies, their cries rattling the very air as if the whole Immaterium celebrated.
Abomination rose, taller, stronger, his hunger unchained. His destiny no longer his own, but he embraced it with savage delight.
His maddened gaze then blackened as Voryx sent him off.
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Blonsky's eyes snapped open—no, not Blonsky anymore, Abomination. The Immaterium's fire and flesh faded, and with a guttural gasp, he found himself awake in the mortal realm, body trembling as if struggling to contain the monstrous power boiling inside him. His chest rose and fell with heavy, primal breaths, each inhale rattling the ruined medical equipment that once surrounded him.
For a moment, silence. Then—rage.
His pupils constricted into feral slits as Voryx's whispers slithered into his mind like molten chains. "Break. Kill. Prove."
And so, Abomination obeyed.
With a roar that shattered windows, he tore free of the restraints and impaled the nearest doctor through the wall with a single swing. Bones cracked, flesh split, and the man became nothing more than a smear across sterile tile. Nurses screamed, bolting for the exit, but his monstrous arm slammed down, crushing them into crimson stains. The beeping of life-support machines drowned under the sound of tearing metal and the shrieks of the dying. He was merciless, efficient—each strike fueled by the intoxicating strength that coursed through his monstrous veins.
The hospital became a slaughterhouse.
Alarms blared, lights flickered, and fire spread from ruptured pipes as Abomination ripped through walls and ceilings alike. His grotesque silhouette, taller and more jagged than what Blonsky once dreamed of being, stood against the flames like a demon brought forth from Hell itself. His hide no longer bore the movie's reptilian skin, but instead twisted layers of muscle, blackened bone jutting through at unnatural angles, veins glowing faintly with an orange-red light—the mark of Voryx's corruption. His jaw unhinged wider than human, lined with teeth that looked more like shards of volcanic glass.
He was an abomination not of science—but of the warp.
Stepping through the rubble, Abomination dragged his claws against the wall, sparks flying as his guttural laughter echoed through the night. Every sound carried with it the echoes of Voryx's amusement.
Outside, the city slept—unaware of the carnage just birthed into its streets. Abomination bent low, then leapt, soaring above the rooftops with speed and strength that blurred him into the shadows of night. His landing cracked asphalt, and he sprinted through the dark, every stride faster, hungrier, his heart pounding to a rhythm not his own.
And in his mind, Voryx spoke again.
"You crave the Hulk… the one who broke you. Soon. His blood will be your triumph. But first…"
The voice deepened, layered with countless tones.
"You must open the gate. My children hunger. They claw at the veil, desperate to feast. Only a psyker's ritual can tear the skin of this realm wide enough for them to enter. Seek one, bind one, and let the screams of millions fuel the birth of chaos."
Abomination slowed, his twisted grin spreading wider. "A psyker"
He stopped at a rooftop overlooking the city, the wind brushing against his warped frame. His claws flexed. His muscles twitched, eager for more blood. But above it all, his thoughts returned to a single image—the Hulk. That smug, uncontrollable beast that left him broken, humiliated.
Abomination snarled, saliva dripping from his jagged teeth. "First you, Hulk… then the world burns."
From the distance, the faint sound of police sirens drew closer, but to him they were gnats. A shadow of a laugh rumbled from deep within his chest, rolling into full-blown hysteria that rattled across rooftops. He could already imagine the chaos—the rift tearing open, the amalgamated daemons pouring forth, cities drowning in screams.
And above it all… the cacoon of Voryx pulsing in the warp, whispering promises of fire and conquest.
The night swallowed his form as he leapt into the horizon, speed unimaginable, guided by bloodlust and divine corruption.
The war for Earth had already begun—only no one yet knew it.
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