Ten thousand years…
Abaddon's gaze froze, as if memories dragged him into a past abyss.
Guilliman was just as dazzling back then!
Like a star, the Sun, his innate kingly aura allowed him to embrace all things, yet also possessed the might of thunder, drawing admiration from countless individuals.
His dazzling brilliance made them seem insignificant in comparison, like rats in a gutter.
The Warmaster was just as dazzling back then!
In a daze, Abaddon returned to reality, gazing at the "Dazzling" Guilliman, gnashing his teeth and emitting a terrifying sound, blood-red veins bulging on his forehead, his eyes filled with venomous hatred.
"Guilliman—!!!"
Guilliman did not respond, only stood silently, like an ancient monument, observing the utterly depraved Chaos Warmaster in silence.
Was it mockery? Or derision?
Or both?
Guilliman's sapphire eyes, like a frozen galaxy, brewed an invisible storm.
In that gaze, there was neither fury nor contempt, only a cold, absolute rationality, as if he had seen through everything, looking down upon his 'Joker'-like behavior.
Yes, Abaddon felt that his actions, in the eyes of this Primarch, were very much like a Joker's.
His self-proclaimed "Turn the tables" had trapped him in a siege, and those repeated "victories" were merely bait thrown out by this Primarch to lure him in!
Only at this moment did Abaddon suddenly understand.
Why the black Legion's resistance along the way wasn't very fierce, why those Ultramarines were so weak—these were all baits thrown by Guilliman!
"Guilliman, you used new recruits to lure me in, you really know how to make sacrifices!" Abaddon, upholding the principle that even if you lose, your mouth must not, sneered.
"I didn't expect a perfect gene-Primarch to do such a despicable thing, sacrificing so many new recruits, hahahaha!"
"New recruits?"
Guilliman's gaze was indifferent and cold.
"No, you are mistaken. Those people were not new recruits, and in fact—they don't even count as candidates.
If you had to say, they should be 'slaves' instead."
Slaves?
Abaddon was stunned.
"No, impossible, they were clearly Space Marines!"
"Oh." On Guilliman's rock-cold face, his lips curled slightly.
"I apologize, I'm not entirely clear on the origins of those people, someone merely suggested I do this."
"Al! Vin!"
In Abaddon's mind, a hateful young face immediately appeared.
"It seems you know him too?"
Guilliman was unhurried, as if completely at ease.
"These people were all provided to me by him, saying they were—" a tithe offered by a place called 'Wakanda.' Although their individual qualities are good, disguising them as Space Marines with a bit of height adjustment is sufficient."
Damn it!
At this moment, Abaddon's hatred for Emrys had reached its peak.
"It's him again!!!"
Last time, it was this bastard who ruined his plans on Vigilus, and now it's this bastard again, using soldiers conscripted from who knows where, impersonating Space Marines, to deceive his eyes!
Can't this bastard just die?!
"Alright, enough with the pleasantries."
Guilliman's gaze suddenly turned grim.
"I know you're preparing to have the *Vengeful Spirit* ram the *Light of Macragge* to create an opportunity for your escape, but unfortunately—you won't have that chance."
Abaddon's heart panicked.
His plan, discovered again?!
Under Guilliman's gaze, he felt a tremor from the depths of his soul for the first time, as if his entire being had been seen through.
All his schemes seemed like a child's ridiculous tricks!
An invisible pressure tightened Abaddon's heart.
This was not fear, but a sense of defeat and powerlessness—being thoroughly scrutinized and negated by a higher-level existence. His proud strength, his long-planned schemes, all seemed ridiculous and illusory before the Primarch!
"Abaddon, your path—ends here."
Guilliman's voice was not loud, yet it resonated like a great bell, silencing the tumultuous battlefield, clearly entering everyone's minds, carrying an undeniable supreme authority, like a strict law.
"The rebellion that began with Horus, the Imperium's wound of ten thousand years, your blasphemy will all be brought to a close today."
"By the laws of Ultramar,"
The holy Son of the Emperor, Regent of the Imperium, Sir of the Ultramarines, Roboute Guilliman, gripped the holy sword bestowed by the Emperor, his tone suddenly sinking, like a final verdict delivered to a criminal.
"I sentence you, Abaddon, traitor to the Imperium—to death!"
The Emperor's holy sword burned with an eternal, unquenchable pure fire. This flame was not the defiling power of Chaos, but a symbol of humanity's hope, a blade forged by the Emperor from humanity's indomitable will over ten thousand years!
It was the judgment of order against ran!
The dazzling light radiating from the sword's blade, like the Sun at dawn, with invisible ripples spreading, instantly dispelled the foul darkness emanating from Abaddon's demonic sword, illuminating the entire bridge command hall in pure golden light, like a sacred temple.
Hum!!!
The demonic sword Drach'nyen trembled uneasily in Abaddon's hand, the Warp energies swirling around its blade visibly dimming under the suppression of the holy sword's light, as if sensing the arrival of a natural enemy!
Boom!
The ground was suddenly shattered, accompanied by a sonic boom!
The moment the last word fell, Guilliman moved, at a speed imperceptible to mortal eyes, the massive power armor on him seeming as light as nothing.
Abaddon hadn't expected Guilliman to abandon his guards and personally engage him in combat, and his original intentions once again became active.
"Excellent!!!"
As he spoke, his vision was completely filled by the light radiating from the Emperor's holy sword, a sacred power seemingly capable of purifying all defilement, directly disregarding the distance of space, striking towards Abaddon's head!
Where the sword's edge passed, even the air was ignited and purified, leaving a pure trail of light!
So fast!
Abaddon's pupils constricted violently, a premonition of death like a sharp sword piercing his heart, forcing all his muscles and bones to unleash their maximum strength, the servo-systems emitting a dull roar, providing him with surging power.
The demonic sword Drach'nyen was held horizontally before him.
"Daring to come forward yourself, this will be your only mistake, Guilliman—!!!" Abaddon's roar carried a hint of the madness of a cornered beast.
He wanted to reenact Horus' feat here, before the Ultramarines Legion, to slay—their gene-father, and carve pain into the souls and genes of the Ultramarines!
Boom!!!
Chaos and order, purity and defilement.
The clash and collision of the two even surpassed all previous encounters, the will and power of the Primarch and the Chaos Warmaster impacting on both spiritual and physical levels!
Gold and black, Emperor and Chaos.
Two destructive torrents of energy, carrying the will of both sides, erupted in a tangible shockwave, an extremely dazzling light mixed with violent energy, washing over the surroundings like a tsunami.
The blade, imbued with the Emperor's divine will, burned with an indescribable light. Its fierce, scorching flames made Abaddon feel as if he were being roasted by a star. His flesh, armor, and the evil power within him all dissipated like melting snow in spring as they contended with this force!
"How... how is this possible?!"
Abaddon was utterly terrified.
The power bestowed upon him by the Four Chaos Gods was actually inferior to that damned 'False Emperor'?!
He let out a roar of unprecedented pain, mixed with shock and fury. The servo-system wailed as if overburdened by the Primarch's power, and every inch of his power armor creaked.
The metal deck beneath his feet was crushed and cracked, collapsing under the pressure. Horrifying golden flames cascaded over his body like a waterfall, melting even metal into a lava-like fluid under the heatwave.
And the daemon sword "Drach'nyen," which Abaddon was so proud of, capable of slaying Primarchs, the product of the first 'murder' in human history, developed a clear, seemingly tiny but shocking crack where it clashed with the Emperor's Holy Blade!
From the depths of the crack, dark, foul blood seemed to seep out, but it was instantly scorched and evaporated by the golden flames, turning into acrid black smoke!
Crack! Crack!
When divine artifacts clashed, the victor was instantly clear!
This daemon sword, born from humanity's first 'murder,' trembled like a dying beast under the Holy Blade bestowed by the Emperor, its wails echoing its impending demise.
It proved that neither the 'blessings of the Four Gods' nor the aid of the 'first murder weapon in human history' made Abaddon a match for a Primarch.
And the daemon sword Drach'nyen, under the Holy Blade's absolute power, showed signs of fatigue and fear!
As Abaddon was gripped by terror, the Primarch, with lightning speed, changed his attack stance again. The Holy Blade and the daemon sword fiercely rubbed together, sending out a dazzling shower of sparks. At the same time, the Primarch gripped the Holy Blade with both hands, accumulating power, and brought it down again with a mighty chop!
Abaddon couldn't adjust his breath before he was forced to block once more.
Clang!!!
Blades clashed, and immense power poured forth like a flood.
Abaddon gritted his teeth, enduring the blow, but his arms were uncontrollably numb. The web of skin between his thumb and forefinger, where he gripped the sword, was split open in several places, and the daemon sword nearly flew from his grasp.
But at this moment, the Primarch, his killing intent resolute, gave Abaddon no quarter, attacking again with his sword!
In an instant, a biting sword wind, like an icy storm, swept over Abaddon, engulfing him with chilling killing intent.
"Protect the Warmaster!!!"
Seeing Abaddon at a disadvantage, the surrounding black Legion Terminators immediately sprang into action, breaking away from the Ultramarines' encirclement to try and stop the Primarch.
But, could they stop him?
Back then, when Guilliman first awoke, even before he was fully accustomed and lucid, he had single-handedly punched dozens of Chaos Space Marines to death.
How much more so now?
"Get out—!!!"
In his fury, the Primarch's superhuman senses, like a precisely operating supercomputer, instantly locked onto and predicted the movements of these individuals.
The concealed bolter in the Hand of Dominion, like the God of Death's scythe, precisely fired several bolter rounds, directly reaping these Terminators who attempted to block him.
But thanks to this brief interlude, Abaddon finally got a chance to catch his breath. He immediately regrouped, swinging his sword to cleave at the Primarch again. He always believed he was no weaker than a Primarch!
Just now, he had simply been caught off guard by a sneak attack and hadn't reacted in time. If he had been prepared, who would win or lose, who would emerge victorious, was still unknown!
He charged forward with full confidence, believing that this time, with his ten millennia of combat experience, the blessings of the Four Gods, and the power of his daemon sword, he would not suffer a complete defeat.
Guilliman?
Just a mere bureaucratic Primarch, whose combat power was almost at the bottom among all the Primarchs. Could he, Abaddon, really not defeat him?!
But the result seemed a little different from what Abaddon had imagined. The Primarch swung his sword horizontally, with the force of a thousand tons.
Terrifying power, combined with the 'Armor of Fate' meticulously crafted for him by Krast, and a servo-system perfectly matched to the Primarch's strength, even amplifying it countless times. Where the sword's edge swept, rolling golden flames followed, and even the air was cleaved open, like a parting sea, a truly magnificent display of power!
Abaddon, who had just rekindled his confidence, had his thoughts and pride extinguished by a single sword stroke in an instant.
The daemon sword was almost chipped by the single blow.
And his Terminator power armor, caught in the aftershock of that sword stroke, suffered metal fractures, and its servo-system emitted an overloaded wail.
Thump! Thump!
Abaddon stumbled back several steps before he could barely steady himself, his face filled with horror.
"Impossible! How could he—be so strong?!"
This thought, like a venomous snake, uncontrollably burrowed into Abaddon's arrogant heart, gnawing at his last shred of confidence.
He had underestimated, severely underestimated, this Thirteenth Primarch who had returned from coming home!
This was not the 'weak Primarch' he remembered, who was more adept at strategy than direct combat, but a true Geneseed Primarch, at the peak of his power!
Abaddon had overlooked one thing.
"Bureaucratic Primarch," "politically astute," poor in one-on-one combat, lacking in battle prowess—all these evaluations were given by Primarchs, beings of the same tier.
Ultimately, Guilliman was still one of the twenty Geneseed Primarchs created by the Emperor, a 'demigod' in the true sense of the word!
"Abaddon, I'm very curious—what gave you the confidence to defeat a Primarch?"
Guilliman was almost exasperated by this 'Warmaster' who seemed to have a screw loose.
"Did defeating Krast give you the impression you could do it?
Did he give you the confidence to face a Primarch alone, is that it?!"
He wasn't good at one-on-one!
But the problem was, only top-tier Daemon Princes or Daemon Primarchs had the right to say such a thing.
You, Abaddon, to put it nicely, are the Warmaster of Chaos chosen by the Four Gods. To put it bluntly, aren't you just a lackey, a pawn of the Four Gods?
What right do you have to say he's no good?
Are you the Lion? Or the Great Angel? Or Fulgrim?!
None of the above, so why are you even talking nonsense!
The Primarch was very angry, and the consequences would be severe.
Moreover, he had almost been killed by Fulgrim not long ago. The thought of it made him even angrier. What kind of thing are you, daring to look down on him?!
However, the next sentence completely crossed the line for this seemingly gentle Primarch.
"A mere Guilliman, a mere Guilliman—!"
Abaddon gritted his teeth, his face contorted with shame and fury, his roar laced with intense unwillingness.
"?"
Guilliman's face darkened.
What did he mean by—a mere Guilliman?!
It must be admitted.
Abaddon has a certain talent for annoying people; otherwise, back on Cadia, Calgar wouldn't have been so enraged as to challenge him to a duel, only to be beaten into the ICU, requiring his honor guard to carry him out on a stretcher, barely saving his life.
But the problem is...
You might get away with provoking Chapter Master Calgar, but can you still escape unscathed after provoking a Primarch?
"Good! Good! Good!"
Guilliman laughed in extreme anger.
He uttered three 'goods' in a row, each word heavy as a thousand pounds, seemingly vibrating the air, making the atmosphere of the entire battlefield suddenly much heavier, thick as oil.
There's a limit to looking down on someone, isn't there?
He, Guilliman, is a Primarch, after all. So what if he lost a few duels? Does he have to be reminded of it constantly?!
Abaddon's petty intentions were practically transparent.
Any clear-headed person knew he was deliberately provoking the Primarch, because once anger dominates emotions, one loses reason, thereby creating an opportunity for him.
But unfortunately, Abaddon, pushed to the brink and eager to prove himself, once again overlooked one thing—provoking a Primarch is not a good choice, especially in the current precarious situation.
"Since that's what you think, then let your body experience it properly, Abaddon!" Guilliman's eyes narrowed, and he angrily stepped forward, his massive body exuding an overwhelming aura, like a toppling mountain. His blade cleaved through layers of air, and with the blessing of golden fire, he was like a god reborn!
Boom!
No matter how sturdy the metal deck, it couldn't withstand the full force of a Primarch's stomp. Cracks, dense as a spiderweb, spread in all directions.
At the same time, Abaddon felt as if a tsunami was sweeping towards him, an overwhelming pressure that even caused his Superman organs to over-pressurize, air being squeezed from his lungs, and his limbs felt heavy as if weighted, difficult to move.
This is a Primarch?!
Abaddon struggled to erupt, breaking free from this restraint, forcibly driving his limbs, and, based on experience from hundreds of death battles, he swung his sword at the Primarch's left knee, attempting to save himself.
Unexpectedly, Guilliman's movements were even faster, as if he had anticipated it. His foot came crashing down, directly stepping on Abaddon's daemon sword.
With the downward force, Abaddon was forced to bend at the waist by this power, completely exposing his vital neck to the Primarch's blade.
!!!
The holy sword descended.
Carrying golden fire, its momentum was terrifying.
Seeing Abaddon about to become a casualty of the sword, he panicked, dropping his daemon sword and frantically twisting his body to dodge.
The sword missed, and the Primarch snorted, stepping on the daemon sword and continuing his pursuit, the holy sword aiming directly for Abaddon's throat.
Abaddon was forced to use the 'Claw of Horus' to block this deadly blow.
Clang!
The holy sword struck the 'Claw of Horus,' sparks flew, and the holy, pure fire immediately surged up, igniting Abaddon's body.
"Ah ah ah!"
The terrible part arrived.
This power was not merely physical impact, but carried a divine force of absolute repulsion and purification against the essence of Chaos, almost on a fundamental level!
It was like an invisible sledgehammer, striking deep into Abaddon's soul, causing his will, strengthened by the blessings of the gods, to tremble violently. His vision blurred, and his senses plunged into temporary confusion.
"Abaddon, your towering sins end here." Guilliman's eyes remained as cold as ten thousand years of profound ice, without a ripple.
His power continuously increased, bearing down on the holy sword, like a vast galaxy, a raging tsunami, endlessly pouring into Abaddon's filthy, blasphemous body.
"Is this the Chaos Gods you boast about?" Guilliman's voice, amidst the roar of surging energy, fell into Abaddon's mind like a judgment.
"Heh, they are nothing more than this."
Before the Emperor's will, before the hope of humanity, the blasphemous power of the Chaos Gods melted away like winter snow in summer!
The holy flame of the holy sword surged again.
It sought to completely crush Abaddon's desecrated body, to utterly purify the Warmaster of Chaos!
"Ah—!!!" Abaddon let out a dying roar like a trapped beast, pouring all his Chaos energy into the 'Claw of Horus,' frantically squeezing every ounce of power from his body, trying to turn the tide.
However.
If even the First Murderous Blade of Humanity couldn't stop the holy sword, how could the 'Claw of Horus' resist it?
Crack!
A piercing, metallic shattering sound.
Abaddon's pupils contracted sharply. Under the impact of the holy sword, cracks gradually spread across the 'Claw of Horus,' extending throughout his entire arm. The surrounding air boiled, and the surging energy of the Warp seemed to show signs of receding.
This was the first time he had so clearly smelled the cold breath of death on his face!
Chilling, bone-deep!
Fear uncontrollably drilled into his bones, igniting the terror in every cell. The arrogance he had initially felt, wanting to contend with the Primarch, was instantly swallowed by profound fear!
Just then, a hoarse voice exploded in the black Legion's communication channel.
"Cover the Warmaster!!!"
It was Abaddon's second-in-command, a Chaos Lord also clad in Terminator heavy armor. He had witnessed the wailing of the daemon sword and the Warmaster's crushing defeat, knowing that the end was nigh, and only sacrifice could buy a slim chance of survival.
This Chaos Lord let out a final roar.
He no longer paid attention to the Ultramarines Terminator assault cannon bombardment beside him, ignoring the sparks and dents exploding on his heavy shoulder armor. He transformed his massive Terminator body into a projectile burning with blasphemous psychic energy, with his disintegration field maximized, emitting a piercing shriek, charging towards the Primarch in a desperate attack!
At the same time, Chaos Sorcerers chanted loudly, directly detonating dozens of plague spores stored within the bodies of black Legion warriors!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
One after another, explosions turned the plague spores into a dense, putrid green mist that enveloped the entire battlefield.
And that second-in-command also sacrificed his life to Chaos, giving Guilliman a faint, extremely subtle impact.
The Primarch's movements were disrupted.
A sacrifice made at the cost of life, yet it only caused the Primarch's movements to stiffen for a thousandth of a second. Abaddon's most core black Legion champions also went completely insane. They no longer valued their lives, even actively crashing into Ultramarines and the fatal muzzles of Terminators, using their bodies as shields, using self-detonating backpacks, using sorcerous scrolls, to create brief and chaotic energy storms and vision-obscuring dense smoke.
The black Legion had only one goal!
To stop Guilliman, even if only for a moment, just to carve out a path of blood for their Warmaster!
The sacrifice of that Chaos Lord completely ignited the morale of the black Legion.
It was truly a fight with their backs against the wall!
The desperate charge of the Chaos Terminators and the explosive, virulent spores from the Chaos Sorcerers briefly stalled the Ultramarines' advance, and also required Guilliman to divert his attention.
The Primarch did not waver, he swung his sword to cut through the virulent mist, his decisive and stern voice, like a giant rock sinking into a lake, instantly stabilized the ranks of the Ultramarines, whose formation had become slightly chaotic.
"Do not retreat a single step! The Warmaster of Chaos is right before us! This is the best opportunity, do not waste the chance that Ivan created for us!"
This majestic command also invigorated the Ultramarines.
They absolutely had to suppress the black Legion!
Moreover, as the commander-in-chief, he also had to curb the morale of the black Legion. As the saying goes, strike while the iron is hot, for momentum wanes and then is exhausted.
Otherwise, if the black Legion's morale was allowed to rise, perhaps today—his and Ivan's meticulously planned trap, the scheme to slay the Warmaster of Chaos—would be utterly ruined.
Guilliman, holding his holy sword, used the pure golden flames of the Emperor to cleave through the virulent mist that enveloped his vision. The auspex inside his faceplate locked firmly onto the frantically fleeing Abaddon.
"Where do you think you're running to?!"
Bang!
The Primarch's metallic boots stomped down suddenly.
The overloaded servo-systems injected surging power, crushing the ground beneath him, a wave of energy burst from his body, and the power pack jetted scorching blue light. The immense energy propelled the Primarch like an artillery shell, slamming towards the fleeing Abaddon!
"Abaddon, I have already said, today—is your day of death!" The holy sword, wreathed in dazzling golden flames, like the dawn breaking through twilight, sliced through the Warp energy barrier and the virulent mist with extreme ferocity!
"Warmaster—hurry and go!!!"
However, sometimes, one has to admit that Abaddon possessed extremely outstanding popularity and charisma within the black Legion.
At this critical juncture, another Chaos Lord, at the cost of his life, stood in front of the Primarch's sword.
Slash!
The golden holy sword, like a hot butter knife, cut through with extreme ease, even with a silky smoothness, slicing a high-ranking Chaos Lord, along with his heavy shoulder pads and power armor, diagonally into two halves!
Khorne's Champion, highly valued by Abaddon, roared with the majesty of the 'Blood God,' dragging his chainaxe. After the high-ranking Chaos Lord fell, he took over his duty.
"Warmaster, hurry and go, I will cover your retreat!"
"Get out of my way!!!"
The Primarch was utterly enraged.
To be stopped again and again, did he have any face left?!
The holy sword, wreathed in golden flames, suddenly accelerated, leaving afterimages in the air.
A condensed, almost corporeal sword-light, like a blade parting water, precisely sliced through the charging Khorne Champion. His chainaxe was cut through like butter before the holy sword, and the Terminator armor, renowned for its defense, was torn apart as easily as thin paper.
His seemingly fierce and unstoppable charge, along with his body, was cleaved open by this single sword strike. Foul blood and organs were instantly vaporized by the holy sword, leaving behind two smoking, charred remnants that crashed to the ground.
Khorne's Champion?
Still insta-killed with one sword strike!
What kind of riff-raff dared to block the Primarch?
The enraged Guilliman completely transformed into a god of slaughter. Almost none of the enemies who dared to stand in his way could withstand a single move; all were instantly killed!
Along the way, severed limbs, charred husks, and metal fragments paved the entire path.
"Ah ah ah—Guilliman!!!"
The 'family fortune' he had painstakingly accumulated was almost wiped out by Guilliman in just a few short minutes.
These Space Marines, whom he had brought to execute the Primarch decapitation plan, were all veterans of shadow Moon Wolves who had followed him across the galaxy for ten millennia, through thirteen black Crusades, and were the cornerstone of the black Legion!
In fact, it could even be said that the black Legion was built upon these 'veterans.'
But now, before the enraged Primarch, even these experienced veterans of ten thousand years of war could not resist his murderous advance.
Abaddon was consumed by fury, wishing he could turn back and fight Guilliman to the death. However, the last shred of reason in his mind forcibly pulled back his advancing foot.
He couldn't go back!
Abaddon, enraged to the point of hatred, his eyes bloodshot and nearly bursting, stared fixedly at that magnificent figure with eyes full of venomous resentment.
Even Abaddon felt a pang of sorrow, his eyes red and filled with resentment and hatred as he stared at that magnificent figure.
"I swear, I will kill you—Guilliman!!!"
"Kill me?"
Guilliman heard Abaddon's resentful roar and couldn't help but let out a cold snort, stepping into the black Legion with his sword.
"I am right here, Abaddon... If you have an ounce of 'honor' left, then come and fight me to the death!"
Wherever the invincible blade of the holy sword passed, blood splattered and flames blazed!
No one could block, nor could anyone stop him!
He, Roboute Guilliman, would today avenge the Battle of Ivand, and the Siege of Terra!
Whoever blocked him would die!
The Primarch moved with swiftness, his blade sharp.
The black Legion had done everything they could to create an opportunity for their Warmaster, but no matter how many "ants" there were, how could they stop an elephant?
Moreover, Guilliman was not fighting alone. Behind him was an absolutely superior and overwhelming force of 'Ultramarines' personal guards, including Chapter Master Krast, and a host of 'Champions' adorned with wreaths. Inspired by the Primarch leading the charge, their morale also surged.
"Abaddon, you can't escape—!"
Guilliman, bare-handed, crushed the head of a black Legion Terminator.
Even the hard helmet, when the Primarch's massive hand closed and squeezed it, was utterly pulverized, bursting into a sticky, red and white mess.
The Terminator, before the Primarch, was like a frail chick, casually tossed aside.
The magnetic boots made a dull thud as they connected with the metal floor.
The massive, majestic figure, like a mountain, cast a terrifying shadow that completely enveloped Abaddon, who had been forced into a corner.
Yes, he had nowhere left to retreat.
The heavy gates that had descended from all sides were forged from adamantium. Their weight and hardness were impossible to breach in a short time.
Even more despairing was that Guilliman had even smeared the ashes of 'Soulless Ones' onto the gates.
This meant Abaddon's only hope, to tear apart the metal gates with Chaos sorcery to escape, was completely cut off.
The blade of the holy sword scraped across the metal floor, sending out dazzling sparks.
Guilliman's figure slowly approached, the invisible pressure almost tangible, making it nearly impossible for Abaddon to breathe, his pupils bloodshot.
Could it be that he, the Warmaster of Chaos, was truly destined to die here today?
Barton had been forced into a corner.
Ahead was the invincible Primarch, the Lord of the Ultramarines, the one he had mistakenly thought would be an easy fight, 'Roboute Guilliman'.
Behind him was a heavy bulkhead, smeared with the ashes of 'soulless ones', blessed scripture from the Ecclesiarchy, and reinforced with adamantium.
There was truly no way out, no escape!
Barton, who had always believed himself protected by the gods and unstoppable, now found himself in despair.
Seeing Guilliman's sword cleave down, Barton even had thoughts of giving up.
He couldn't win a fight, he couldn't run away, so what else could he do but wait for death?
But just then, the remnants of the black Legion, seeing their Warmaster once again forced into a desperate situation by the Primarch, unleashed their last reserves of strength.
The blasphemous chants of the Chaos Sorcerers accelerated, even as their bodies rotted and turned to pulp.
They sacrificed their lives to launch a final attack against the invincible Primarch, hoping to save their Warmaster.
Lightning! Flames! Shockwaves! Potent poisons!
Mixed with the life-sacrificing attacks of numerous Chaos Sorcerers, it was like a surging tide from the Warp.
Even Guilliman was stunned by this assault, his brows furrowed, and he immediately made a judgment: he could not trade his life for theirs.
Superman-like senses played a huge role at this moment, allowing the Primarch, with incredible agility, to twist his body at the crucial moment.
The power system and servo-systems worked in concert, allowing his seemingly massive body to erupt with unparalleled speed.
Boom!
It was as if an afterimage flickered in place.
The blasphemous energy, churning with the malice of the Warp, became the final barrier between the Primarch and Barton.
It also bought Barton a moment to catch his breath.
But even this negligible delay was enough for Barton, who had fought countless battles and clawed his way out of despair numerous times!
"Ngh ah ah ah—!" Barton let out a roar, a mix of agony and fury.
He seized this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, bought for him by the lives of many loyal followers, and unleashed all his strength.
But this power was not meant to contend with the Primarch, nor to defeat the holy sword.
It was for escape!
The 'Talon of Horus', which had nearly been shattered by the holy sword earlier, seemed to sense the 'progeny's' crisis.
This Chaos artifact, bestowed upon him as 'Chaos Warmaster', now condensed Chaos energy; black vengeful spirits shrieked and wailed, and unparalleled blasphemous energy coiled around the sharp adamantium claws.
Barton's Terminator armor's servo-systems went into overload, every joint and gear emitting a screech as if on the verge of disintegration.
He poured all his strength into this one strike.
"Break it open for me!!!"
The heavy adamantium bulkhead and the 'Talon of Horus' emitted an ear-splitting shriek.
Guilliman, whose expression had remained unchanged until now, suddenly had a drastic shift in his eyes.
The massive, heavy adamantium bulkhead was actually torn open by Barton's desperate strike.
"Retreat!!!"
Barton's shrill scream echoed through the black Legion's comms channel.
"Everyone who can move! Retreat to the K-7 breach!" His voice carried an irrepressible, almost insane, sense of humiliation.
His momentary arrogance had led to the loss of most of the black Legion's main force and elite here.
The black Legion outside, who had been held back, also suffered heavy losses; they were besieged by a force several times their number, a Chapter called the 'Sons of the Forest', and surrounded by a large number of Ultramarines. Seeing their Warmaster carve a bloody path, they all converged on him.
"Stop him!"
Guilliman's cold voice rang out again.
He led the charge, the radiance of the holy sword and the bolter fire from the Hand of Dominion swiftly suppressing any black Legionnaires attempting to break through.
Ultramarines Terminators and Sons of the Forest, without hesitation, like the most precise killing machines, adjusted their fire configuration, forming a deadly crossfire in the not-so-wide warship corridor, covering Barton and the remnants of his black Legion.
"Damn it."
Guilliman's pupils contracted slightly.
This command hall had a Warp suppression device, which was meant to cut off Barton and the black Legion's escape route.
But once he escaped… indeed, Barton, having just stepped out of the command hall, immediately pulled out a twisted, crystal-encrusted skull.
It was a gift from Tzeentch.
A demonic artifact that could allow him to enter the Warp, shielding him from attacks from the physical universe.
Barton just hadn't expected to have to use it here.
One might ask, if he had this item, why didn't Barton use it earlier?
The reason was simple: the suppression of the Warp here was extremely strong, so much so that even Chaos Sorcerers had to pay a heavy price to use psychic powers.
It could be said that Guilliman had set up an inescapable trap here to ensure nothing went wrong!
However, he was ultimately caught off guard, not expecting the power unleashed by a dying Barton to actually tear open the heavy adamantium bulkhead, which had been transported from Terra.
Crack!
Barton violently crushed the skull.
Accompanied by a terrifying Warp shriek that flooded the minds of everyone present, it inevitably froze the Ultramarines, the Sons of the Forest, and even Guilliman in place with pain.
Rumble!!!
A powerful and chaotic Warp energy suddenly erupted from within the crystal-encrusted skull.
This power was not a direct attack, but rather formed a chaotic veil around Barton, distorting light, disrupting sensor arrays, and suppressing energy readings, like a thick, churning, blasphemous mist that cut off everyone's vision.
Even the Ultramarines' bolter rounds and energy beams, when fired into this blasphemous mist, were like stones sinking into the sea, unable to cause a ripple.
Under the cover of this briefly formed chaotic barrier, the remaining, still mobile black Legion elites, like injured beasts, dragged their broken bodies, unleashing their final ferocity, frantically rushing into the mist.
Barton's figure, in the blasphemous mist, appeared indistinct and blurred.
He suddenly turned back, his bloodshot, broken red oculars filled with a ferocious, resentful gaze, fixed intently on the tall, magnificent figure at the entrance of the command hall on the bridge, a figure like the embodiment of order, revealing a deep-seated hatred and a bone-chilling, venom-like resentment.
"Guilliman—!!!"
Barton's roar, filled with extreme hatred, like that of a beast, came from the blasphemous mist, brimming with the fury of a defeated foe.
"This is not the end! Remember Cadia! Remember the Eye of Terror! Remember the pain I brought you… I will return, with the wrath of the Gods, and burn you, and your Imperium, and that damned False Emperor, all to ashes!!!"
Tzeentch's mist enveloped the battleship's corridors. No matter how the Ultramarines' assault cannons, plasma guns, and heavy bolters attacked, they only caused ripples when they struck the thin, viscous, seemingly living mist that covered Abaddon and the black Legion. They couldn't harm Abaddon in the slightest!
"Hmph!"
Suddenly, the airflow surged.
The Primarch merely snorted, his mag-boots scraping against the floor. Like a cannonball fired from a barrel, trailing explosive gales and ear-splitting sonic booms, he charged directly into that thin, viscous Chaos mist!
"Today, you won't escape!" Guilliman was furious. As he swung his sword, the Holy Sword radiated an unparalleled light, like the brilliance of a star, as if to cleave through this blasphemous mist.
To lure Abaddon into the trap, hadn't the Ultramarines paid a heavy price?
Even at the cost of using the 'Glory of Macragge' as bait, actively exposing himself to the attacks of the black Legion's fleet, Guilliman had done all this to once and for all remove Abaddon, this nail driven into the heart of the Imperium!
Now, how could he possibly stand by and watch Abaddon escape?
No, absolutely not!
Don't even think about it!
Guilliman thought this, and the force in his hand intensified.
Mieh!!!
However, the result was greatly disappointing.
Even the Holy Sword bestowed by the Emperor still failed to cleave through that damned mist!
The scorching flames entwined around the blade fiercely collided with the viscous mist, like fire meeting oil, emitting crackling sounds as if burning flesh.
The blade was obstructed, unable to break through.
Guilliman's expression changed slightly as he saw the mist churning and rushing towards him. He immediately pushed off with his feet, rapidly retreating.
The counterattacking 'mist' was extremely ferocious, even corroding the surrounding ground into a large pit.
Seeing this, Abaddon, who had been somewhat apprehensive just a moment ago, instantly calmed down, becoming even more rampant, and continued to mock.
"Hahahahaha, do you see? This is the power of the Chaos Gods! Do you think you can break through it?!"
Gazing at Abaddon, who could only be described as 'rampant' and 'arrogant' behind the mist, the Primarch's expression was grim, as if covered by a pall of gloom.
The last remaining Chaos sorcerers, using the 'Tzeentch's Mist' as a barrier, cast Chaos sorcery.
Powerful Warp psychic energy shattered a fragile, weak point in space on the Glory of Macragge, creating a 'Warp rift' for the black Legion and Abaddon—not too large, but certainly large enough for their retreat.
The only ones who could completely seal the Warp were the sisters of Silence, who were 'soulless', but they had been reassigned by Guilliman to lure Abaddon into the trap.
Now.
Guilliman had given his all, but still couldn't remove this damned nail.
They seemed to have completely lost any way to stop Abaddon from escaping. This 'Tzeentch's Mist' was like an insurmountable chasm, and also the Chaos Gods' mockery of them!
"Hahahahaha."
Through the mist, seeing Guilliman's grim, murderous eyes, Abaddon was not flustered in the slightest, even laughing.
"What can a Primarch do? You can't kill me, and no one can kill me!"
"Who can kill me?!"
"Who can kill me?!"
"Who—can—kill—me!!!"
Abaddon was completely insane.
He had been rubbed into the dirt by Guilliman; his confidence, pride, and the honor of a Warmaster had all been trampled underfoot. Even the elite forces of his legion, painstakingly cultivated, had suffered heavy losses in this battle.
Now, he finally had a chance to gain some advantage over the Primarch!
"Hahahahaha—!!!"
"I am the Warmaster of Chaos, chosen by the Four Gods. Who—can—kill—me?!"
"I—!!!"
Suddenly, a voice emerged.
Abaddon's arrogant, ferocious, almost twisted and deformed smile instantly froze. In the depths of his pupils, there was a complex mix of one part surprise, three parts horror, and six parts disbelief, like a statistical chart.
As he was surprised and stunned.
Swish—!!!
A pitch-black, seemingly translucent blade, like a ghost, appeared silently and abruptly from the mist to Abaddon's left.
The blade easily tore open Tzeentch's Mist.
In Abaddon's shocked and horrified gaze, the blade, carrying a hint of coldness, vaguely slashed towards the vital point of his neck!
It was too fast, too sudden!
So much so that even Abaddon's Superman senses failed to detect how this blade appeared, or even perceive it at all.
A violent, buzzing alarm, mixed with a strong premonition of death, instantly filled Abaddon's mind.
"No—no!!!"
He forcefully twisted his body, trying to dodge the blow.
His intuition told him.
This pitch-black, translucent blade was extremely dangerous, even—far superior to Guilliman's Emperor's Holy Sword!
"Protect the Warmaster!!!"
Just as Abaddon was about to be decapitated, his incredible luck once again came into play.
A Terminator bodyguard suddenly pushed Abaddon out from under the blade, but was himself slashed across the neck by the strike.
A thin line of blood flew out.
Abaddon, having narrowly escaped death, gasped for air, as if waking from the chilling cold of death and the bone-chilling fear.
But when Abaddon turned to reward the Terminator bodyguard who had saved his life, he witnessed a scene he would never forget.
The bodyguard clutched his neck, his pupils constricted, whimpering, opening his mouth wide in terror as if to say something, but very quickly the situation changed.
The tiny wound, which had merely scratched the outermost layer of skin—incapable of killing even a normal human, let alone a Space Marine—rapidly expanded until it completely severed his neck.
"—Be careful—."
He only managed to utter this sentence.
Snap—!
The neck bones fractured, flesh, skin, and sinews were all neatly severed, and a head rolled from the Terminator bodyguard's body, landing with a thud.
Blood gushed like a fountain, spraying three feet high!
Abaddon's pupils suddenly constricted. A fear he couldn't comprehend once again engulfed his entire mind, and his heart felt as if it were squeezed by an invisible hand, a suffocating sensation rising to the top of his head!
What, exactly, was going on?!
He had only been scratched, how could his head be cut off!
Amidst his terror, Abaddon finally saw the person who had ambushed him. His eyes quickly filled with venom and rage, gritting his teeth, as if he wanted to chew his flesh.
"It's you—Merlin Emrys!"
"Damn it—!"
Emrys, whose ambush had failed, had veins bulging on his forehead and couldn't help but curse.
"He actually dodged that, what incredible luck!"
"You—how are you here?!"
Abaddon was very shocked.
According to intelligence, this guy should be on Draconis Prime. How could he appear on the 'Glory of Macragge', on the outskirts of the Effigy System, several light-years away?!
It wasn't just Abaddon.
Even the Primarch, Guilliman, was shocked. How could this kid be here?!
But then he thought, considering the Lion's Warp essence, that mysterious forest, and the elusive 'Children of the Forest,' Emrys appearing here didn't seem so incomprehensible.
However, thinking deeper...
This kid had clearly made a plan with him earlier, but then secretly hid here. Was he distrustful of him?
Guilliman's face darkened.
But no matter what, the kid's appearance at least made up for the flaws in his calculations.
Emrys, however, had no mind to ponder the Primarch's thoughts; he was gritting his teeth in frustration.
What a perfect opportunity!
He had hidden for so long, just for this one strike. He even envisioned a contingency mechanism: with the Warp essence awakened by 'Atropos,' as long as he could touch Abaddon, he could directly 'slay' the past Abaddon. But in the end, Abaddon still dodged it with his heaven-defying luck. How could he not be angry?
Directly 'severing' someone's past thread of fate—Emrys could only use this ability twice in a short period. Missing this opportunity meant he only had one chance left!
And Abaddon, who had narrowly escaped death with the blessing of the Four Chaos Gods and a stroke of incredible luck, though still unaware of the true power of that 'blade,' had drawn a conclusion from the fallen Terminator guard!
That was: absolutely do not get touched!
Otherwise, he too was highly likely to end up like that guard!
"I want you dead—Emrys!!!"
Abaddon, worthy of being the Warmaster of Chaos, cleared his thoughts in a brief fraction of a second, then suddenly stepped forward, the Talon of Horus tearing through the air, clawing at this damned human.
But Emrys once again displayed his slippery, eel-like cunning, using 'precognition' to duck and avoid Abaddon's claw.
At the same time, the dark blade swept out.
Abaddon showed no fear, snatching a power sword and clashing directly with the blade.
Clang!
Sparks flew, the power sword firmly holding its own.
The immense force even sent Emrys flying, tumbling several times on the ground like a fox.
Seeing this, Abaddon grew even more smug.
"Hmph, I thought you had some skill. Turns out you're just relying on that blade. As long as your blade can't touch me, you're nothing to fear!"
"Is that so?"
However, after tumbling several times like a fox, Emrys propped himself up with his blade, a peculiar, mocking look on his face.
"I admit I can't beat you right now, but—"
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Several slashes were unleashed, but the impact points were empty.
"Hm?" Abaddon watched Emrys swinging his blade in place, unable to resist mocking.
"Are you losing your mind? I'm right here. Are you slashing at air?"
He thought Emrys had been intimidated by him.
But, as the blade swept out, the 'chasm' that enveloped them, blocking the Primarch and the Space Marines, was cut with 'gaps'.
"My apologies, what I'm slashing at—is indeed 'air'." Emrys' lips curved slightly upward, growing increasingly arrogant.
"Second half,
Time for a change of players."
Abaddon's pupils constricted again.
A chilling sensation inexplicably crept over him. He stiffly turned his head to look behind him, at the Primarch he had ignored because of Emrys.
"Are you looking for me?"
Like a blue-gold mountain, shrouded in a cold aura, as if a long-suppressed volcano about to erupt, a hint of playfulness shone in his deep eyes.
"As he said, Abaddon—your opponent, is me!"
The thick fog—was split open!
This last barrier protecting them had actually been broken by a mere human!
Bang—!!!
The air seemed to explode. Amidst the deafening roar, Abaddon's face took a solid hit from a punch like a heavy cannon. He flew out like a kite with a broken string, scraping across the ground!
"Calgar!" Guilliman strode forward with heavy steps, like a ignited volcano, a terrifying aura filling the entire corridor.
"Leave no one. Make sure all these blasphemous Sons of Chaos remain here for me!"
Come and go as they please.
Did they think his Macragge's Glory was some casual place?!
"Yes!"
Chapter Master Calgar, leading his elite guard, once again charged towards the panicked black Legion.
Meanwhile, Guilliman turned his gaze to Abaddon.
"Just now, weren't you laughing very loudly? Why aren't you laughing now?"
...?
Abaddon, who had nearly been pulverized by a single punch, could no longer laugh, his face completely bewildered.
He still couldn't understand how Emrys—a mere human—had managed to do what even a Primarch wielding the Emperor's Sword couldn't.
But now was clearly not the time to think about such things—the Primarch he had provoked for so long charged at him in a fury, the entire corridor floor trembling as if Leman Russ himself was charging!
Abaddon desperately squeezed every ounce of strength from his body, barely dodging Guilliman's charge. But before he could react, Guilliman's enormous palm, like a speeding train, slapped him across the face!
Slap!!!
The slap was incredibly loud.
Abaddon was left dizzy and disoriented, his facial bones deformed, blood gushing from his eye sockets and nostrils.
"Laugh!"
Who said Guilliman had a good temper?
After being repeatedly provoked and mocked, even the most good-tempered Vulkan would get angry, let alone—the already ill-tempered Guilliman?!
"Laugh, why aren't you laughing?!"
"Aren't you very good at laughing?!"
"Laugh—for me!!!"
Guilliman's left palm relentlessly slapped Abaddon's face, while the Emperor's Sword in his right hand didn't forget to deliver a few strikes.
Overall, Abaddon could only choose to block the more threatening Emperor's Sword. As for his dignity, it was already almost gone, so he simply didn't care anymore. Let him slap!
But soon, Guilliman found an opening.
Abaddon finally showed signs of fatigue. Emrys seized this opportunity, a fully charged psychic blast distracting Abaddon.
Guilliman then brought his sword down with a fierce chop!
The Emperor's Holy Sword burned with golden flames, radiating magnificent divine power, unmatched in its might, carrying an irresistible will, and ruthlessly descended towards Abaddon's battered head!
"No—Emrys!!!" Desperate coldness reflected in Abaddon's pupils. He hated that if it weren't for Emrys, how could he have fallen to such a state?!
"Ahhh—!!!"
Abaddon let out a final, unwilling roar, but was powerless to stop the arrival of death.
But, at this critical moment, just as the Warmaster was about to perish!
A completely different, eerie and sickly sweet, extremely rich incense, mixed with the toxic aura of blasphemy, unexpectedly invaded Macragge's Glory without warning!
The scent was so strong it was suffocating!
Immediately after, the space between Abaddon and Guilliman twisted and rippled violently, like water into which a stone had been thrown!
A figure abruptly appeared.
It blocked Guilliman's sword and saved the doomed Warmaster of Chaos.
The figure was slightly shorter than Guilliman but more ethereal and slender, clad in purple power armor that perfectly contoured its inhuman curves. The armor was etched with countless blasphemous, ornate bas-reliefs, gleaming with a living jewel-like luster.
Its shoulder pads, like wings made of metallic feathers, added a touch of—allure to him.
He had shoulder-length white hair and an extremely handsome face, as if beyond human comprehension. Even all words of praise would struggle to describe his handsomeness and beauty.
"What a marvelous strike, my dear brother—" 'The Perfect Primarch' Roboute Guilliman."
He seemed to tease, scrutinizing Guilliman, letting out a soft laugh that was neither male nor female, like countless perfect musical notes superimposed yet fragmented.
"We meet again, 'brother'!"