From the moment that purple, enchanting figure appeared, the air in the battleship's corridor became extremely viscous, filled with a sweet, blasphemous scent.
"It's you—!"
Emrys had never seen Guilliman, known for his composure, display such a gaffe expression, and even his tone carried a deep, unshakeable—hatred!
In the depths of those azure eyes, the eternal calm and rational ice, which had always defined him, seemed to crack with the appearance of this "purple enchanting" figure.
"Fulgrim—"
The Primarch softly spoke the name.
This name, this figure, and that voice, all seemed like invisible hands, dragging and pulling at the Primarch's reason, plunging him into the abyss of nightmares from ten thousand years ago.
Fulgrim? Fulgrim!
Initially, Emrys, still a bit confused, wondered who this purple figure, who had suddenly joined the battle and saved Abaddon, truly was.
But, the moment that name slipped out, Emrys' deeply buried memories were unearthed, flashing in his mind.
Fulgrim, the Phoenix Lord, the fallen Son of the Emperor.
He was originally the Sir of the Third Legion, renowned for his pursuit of perfection.
However, it was precisely such a perfect legion, a perfect Primarch, that fell into the vortex of Chaos during the Horus Heresy, becoming a follower of Slaanesh.
If there was ever a Primarch Guilliman considered a 'friend,' then Fulgrim was that person.
He was so dazzling, like the feathers of a phoenix, noble, magnificent, and utterly perfect; whether in strategy, tactics, or politics, Guilliman believed Fulgrim was his kindred spirit.
But, fate is fickle.
It was precisely such a perfect Primarch who ultimately became a follower of Slaanesh.
But perhaps.
The root of the disaster was already laid at that moment.
Fulgrim's pursuit of extreme perfectionism was not only reflected in his personal martial arts and appearance but also permeated the entire legion's tactics, discipline, equipment, and aesthetics.
Even the legion's emblem was changed to the 'Phoenix,' symbolizing perfection; armor had to gleam, and tactics had to be elegant and efficient.
He demanded that legion members strive for excellence in all aspects, becoming the Emperor's perfect creations.
However, too much of a good thing is bad.
It was precisely because of his excessive pursuit of 'perfection' that Fulgrim, step by step, fell into the trap set by Slaanesh, ultimately becoming a 'pawn' of Chaos in pursuit of stronger sensory stimulation.
On Isstvan, Fulgrim devised the cruel viral bombardment strategy, cleansing the loyalist sons, and even personally slaying his brother 'Ferrus Manus,' completely breaking free from the last shackles, severing humanity and brotherhood, and fully dedicating himself to Chaos.
And on the orbit of Macragge, the brutal fratricidal struggle, and the monstrous, disgusting figure deep within the Imperial Palace on Terra—all of these, a towering rage mixed with the deepest pain and betrayal, almost shattered the self-control Guilliman had so proudly established for himself.
The Primarch's gaze seemed to be drawn to Fulgrim, with only "" left in his eyes; his fingers, gripping the Holy Sword, turned white at the knuckles from excessive force, and amidst the creaking sound like metal friction, the flames entwining the Holy Sword suddenly surged, as if hinting at the Primarch's fury, desiring to burn Fulgrim to ashes!
"Fulgrim!" Guilliman's voice, like a specter from the nine hells, each syllable containing and revealing an extreme meaning, as if a terrifying killing intent capable of crushing flesh and bone.
"You traitor to your blood, embracer of corruption—monster! How dare you—appear before me again!"
Terrifying golden flames, like a surging tsunami, crashed and collided with Fulgrim.
However, the Emperor's pure and holy flames, which were enough to push Abaddon to the brink, seemed to be blocked by an invisible curtain as they surged towards Fulgrim.
An enchanting purple light enveloped Fulgrim, rejecting the Emperor's golden flame baptism.
"Monster? Ha, Robert, you're always so laughable." Fulgrim, like an opera actor, mocked Guilliman with an exaggerated tone.
His hand, adorned with a magnificent purple gauntlet, elegantly, as if caressing a lover, brushed over his perfect face, his posture so alluring that it almost made Emrys vomit.
"Look at you, ten thousand years have passed, yet you are still bound by those ridiculous responsibilities and order, like a donkey. The fatigue in your eyes tells me you are very tired. Is this the result you wanted?"
Fulgrim's hoarse voice seemed full of temptation.
"And I—embraced true 'perfection,' transcending mortals and even Primarchs. Only by abandoning that narrow perception can one understand true infinite possibilities."
Fulgrim stepped forward, opening his arms.
"Come, Robert—stop being stubborn with your formalities, and don't be bound by order and rules. Join us and become truly perfect, to witness the miracles of Chaos. Why waste your beautiful life and time like this for a future that is inherently impossible?!"
He, Fulgrim, was still desperately trying to bewitch Guilliman, desiring to drag this Primarch, like himself, into the abyss, into the vortex of Chaos!
"Dream on!"
Guilliman's response was the same as last time.
Resolutely and swiftly, without hesitation, he thrust his sword, aiming directly at Fulgrim's brow.
"No matter how many times you ask, my answer remains the same—No!"
The sword's edge, trailing scorching golden light, made Fulgrim squint slightly, as if unable to look directly at the radiance.
"Robert, as a brother, I sincerely hope you can join us, but if—" The purple phoenix's tone paused, then revealed a terrifying sharpness, utterly sinister.
"You repeatedly defy my good intentions, I don't mind having one more precious collectible, and I don't mind personally slaying another former 'brother.'"
Boom!
In an instant, the airflow exploded.
Fulgrim's purple crystal dagger fiercely collided with Guilliman's sword edge.
"I can give you one more chance—"
The enchanting phoenix narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp and piercing.
"Robert, join us!"
Guilliman responded to Fulgrim's invitation with the most direct action; the Primarch's power suddenly surged, roaring like a turbocharger, making the servo systems hum, and with immense force, he changed his trajectory, swinging his sword towards Fulgrim's head.
"Heh, still so—stubborn!"
Fulgrim snorted, meeting the attack head-on.
Just as the two Primarchs engaged in a struggle of will and power, the terrifying reality-bending field brought by Fulgrim's arrival also bought the dying Abaddon and the remaining black Legion a precious moment of respite!
A chance!
The only glimmer of hope appeared!
Slaanesh's 'Daemon Prince', Fulgrim the Phoenix, was favored by the Chaos God. Abaddon was now absolutely certain.
He—Abaddon the Raider, heir of the shadow Wolves, son of Horus, Warmaster of Chaos—was the undisputed 'Chosen of the Four Gods'!
"Go! Go!!!" Abaddon's voice was broken and hoarse. He struggled, using almost all his strength, to barely support his massive body.
His Terminator armor had been repeatedly slashed by the Holy Sword. The pure, holy flames burned his flesh and even his soul, making every movement cause him immense pain.
Deep, bone-scorching wounds gushed out foul blood mixed with blasphemous machine oil. The intense pain made Abaddon's vision blur. His bloodshot eyes stared intently at the blue-gold figure, not with the relief of surviving a disaster, but with the purest rage and humiliation!
Guilliman!
His gaze shifted to the human, and his hatred surged even more, like a tangible flame, as if he wanted to devour that person alive.
"Emrys! You despicable, shameless, vile bastard, just you wait—!"
If it weren't for this human, his black Legion elites wouldn't have suffered such heavy losses, nor would he have almost been forced into a desperate situation by Guilliman, to the point of needing this damned viper to save his life!
"Retreat, retreat quickly!" Abaddon's voice was like a broken bellows gasping for air, ringing out in the black Legion's chaotic communication channels with an undeniable tone.
He no longer looked at Fulgrim, nor at Guilliman, nor did he bother with Emrys.
While Fulgrim suppressed the Primarch, he had to lead these remaining black Legionnaires, almost crippled by the Ultramarines, to retreat, to preserve the last shred of hope for rebuilding his Legion, for the shadow Wolves, and for himself!
Boom—!
With a loud bang, the battleship shook violently.
It was the black Legion's battleships. They had realized something was wrong. Communications were cut off, and the Warmaster had not sent back any messages. These men were attacking the 'Pride of Macragge'!
Although the void shield device could intercept high-speed attacks, the black Legion was not to be trifled with. Landing craft, one after another, charged recklessly towards the 'Pride of Macragge', with torpedo clusters outside!
"Quick! Assemble in sector K-7!"
Abaddon was overjoyed and hastily gathered his troops, moving closer to their landing point.
The surviving black Legion elites, like hyenas smelling blood, unleashed their last ferocity, ignoring all attacks and surging madly towards that sole path to survival. They pushed each other, even trampling fallen comrades, just to escape this iron hell forged by the Ultramarines as quickly as possible!
"Hmph—"
Fulgrim's perfect face briefly shifted his gaze in the direction of Abaddon's fleeing retreat, seemingly letting out an extremely faint, yet playful and contemptuous chuckle.
The sound wasn't loud, but Abaddon heard it.
It pierced his proud heart like a poisoned needle, yet Abaddon gritted his teeth, his eyes red, suppressing this rage, and continued his frantic, fleeing retreat.
Guilliman, Emrys, Fulgrim—
These names were etched in Abaddon's heart. Once he escaped this damned trap, none of them would escape. He would surely exact his revenge!
Guilliman, too, was completely ignited by that laugh. He had gone to great lengths to create this opportunity; how could he tolerate Abaddon escaping his grasp again?
And he could not tolerate Fulgrim toying with him so wantonly in his presence!
"Don't you dare leave! Traitor!" Guilliman's roar was like thunder. The golden flames of the Emperor's Holy Sword surged violently again, attempting to forcefully push away Fulgrim's amethyst dagger, which clung like a bone maggot.
Clang!
With a flick of his sword, a concentrated golden light, like a judgment of fire, tore through the distorted field, shooting directly towards Abaddon's fleeing back!
This sword strike contained the Primarch's towering rage and his resolute determination to kill!
However.
He was fast, but Fulgrim's movements were even faster!
The purple phoenix's figure moved strangely, as if twirling, like dancing an elegant and deadly waltz, carving a flawless purple arc in the void, precisely 'colliding' with the weakest point of Guilliman's blade.
Clang!
Amidst a crisp sound, Guilliman's sword light was indeed blocked. Moreover, the position Fulgrim attacked was the most perfect, a spot where Guilliman found it difficult to exert his strength.
That magnificent, lethal sword strike was thus easily and simply neutralized by Fulgrim.
The pure flames that formed the sword light, moreover, burst like a popped soap bubble, silently dissipating and annihilating as if in a dream.
"Hmph—." Fulgrim retracted his dagger, his demonic, perfect pale face turning to Guilliman, saying lazily and mockingly, "Roboute, you're still so impatient. Even if you're to judge a former comrade, shouldn't you be a little more elegant?"
"Silence!!!"
Guilliman naturally heard Fulgrim's deliberate mention of 'comrade', which was tantamount to rubbing salt in his bleeding old wounds!
"Oh~ Are you angry? Your face twisted with rage, that's not like the 'perfect' you, is it? Where is your rationality?
Where are your plans? Hahahaha—"
"Stop—stop talking!" Guilliman's chest heaved violently, and the Holy Sword in his hand hummed with anger.
Fulgrim's words, like poisoned daggers, precisely stabbed into the most painful wounds in his heart: guilt over the City of Perfection, and even more, self-reproach and pain for failing to see through his brother's fall in the early stages of the rebellion and for failing to prevent this tragedy!
"You—you don't deserve to utter the word 'comrade'! It was your lies that twisted our friendship!" Guilliman trembled slightly from extreme rage, pointing the Holy Sword directly at Fulgrim, roaring, "Your so-called elegance is nothing but a fig leaf for corruption!
Your perfection is the blasphemy of Chaos! You betrayed Father! You betrayed humanity! And you betrayed—all the glory you once represented! Now, you are nothing but a pathetic wretch!"
Emrys opened his mouth, but then closed it again.
How to describe Guilliman? He truly was a 'man of culture'; even his insults were so reasoned. But speaking like that wouldn't break Fulgrim's defenses!
"Betrayal? Glory?"
Indeed, just as Emrys expected, the long-fallen Fulgrim didn't care about his taunts at all, as if he had heard some joke,
He laughed as if saying, "What stale words, Roboute. Father? Humanity? You actually still take pride in these things, how pathetic—. You can't even see the truth."
"It was him! It was he who deceived all of us! He treated us as tools! As pawns in his cold plan! And 'glory'?" Fulgrim was like a venomous snake, his voice suddenly turning cold and resentful.
"That was nothing but for his lies!"
Guilliman closed his eyes.
At this point, he no longer wanted to waste words.
"I have nothing to argue about with you, traitor. Emrys, I will hold Fulgrim; Abaddon is yours—!"
"???"
Emrys was stunned.
Seriously? He fights Abaddon?!
Emrys was stunned.
Are you kidding me? He's supposed to fight Abaddon?!
With his meager skills, wouldn't he just be committing suicide?
Don't get me wrong, Abaddon might have been thrashed like a dog in front of the Primarch, but at the end of the day, he is a genuine Chaos Warmaster, who clawed his way up from the bottom, experiencing countless bloody battles unimaginable to ordinary people!
Otherwise, why would the Luna Wolves, the black Legion's predecessor, acknowledge him?
After all that, it boils down to one thing — Abaddon is truly formidable!
Kaelen was powerful, right?
What was the result? He was almost cut down by Abaddon on the world Cadian, and if it weren't for his personal guard fighting to the death, he wouldn't even have had a chance to lie in the ICU!
Thirteen black Crusades, taunting the Imperium so many times, not only did he not die, but he also thrived more and more. It's clear that Abaddon is far from just a 'Joker' figure.
He is cunning, treacherous, and patient.
He is even willing to sacrifice his self-respect for his goals. This alone is enough to label him a 'tyrant'.
Otherwise, how could Abaddon repeatedly jump between Chaos and the Imperium, not only surviving but also becoming the Chaos Warmaster, the only one chosen by the Four Gods after Horus?
He possesses that ability!
And this is precisely why the Primarch was so eager to set a trap, even using himself as bait, to eliminate Abaddon here.
If he were to live, the consequences for the Imperium would be unimaginable.
But clearly, the Four Gods also did not want such a useful 'pawn' to die in a war like this, so— Fulgrim appeared.
Fulgrim represents the will of Slaanesh.
Now, the influence of the Battle of Dragon Forest is expanding, from Khorne to Slaanesh, Nurgle, and Tzeentch?
"Emrys—!"
Suddenly, a furious roar pulled Emrys back to reality from his thoughts.
It was Guilliman.
Wielding the Emperor's Sword, his furious assault completely suppressed Fulgrim, the Phoenix Primarch. Waves of sharp sword light spread out like solid energy, plowing intersecting cracks into the hard battleship corridor.
But, purely in terms of form.
Although Fulgrim was being suppressed, a demonic smile always played on his face, as if he enjoyed being 'suppressed'.
"Is this the boy?" The Slaanesh Daemon Prince's gaze swept over Emrys, seemingly without focus, yet in his mind, he was pondering what was so special about him that he could earn the Sir's favor?
"What are you doing?!"
Guilliman, finding Emrys lost in thought during a brief moment, couldn't help but roar, "Quickly, stop him! This is the only chance!"
If Abaddon escaped, there wouldn't be such a good opportunity again!
The cunning Abaddon would never fall for it again.
He would hide himself, lurking in the shadows like a rat in a sewer, seeking and waiting for the moment the Imperium showed a weakness, and then biting down hard!
Guilliman would never allow such a thing to happen. He wanted to achieve his goal in one fell swoop, to completely eradicate this 'festering, pus-filled sore' that had lingered on the Imperium's wound for ten thousand years!
"Being forced into a corner, I suppose this is what it's like for me?" Emrys gave a wry smile, but he also knew that besides him—no one else could do it.
Abaddon, at the end of his rope, with only a glimmer of hope remaining, led the black Legion, fighting desperately towards 'Area K-7'.
Because there were ships waiting to rendezvous with them there.
"As long as—as long as we can get there!" Abaddon's eyes were bloodshot, like a beast in a cage. To seize a sliver of life, they would do anything!
However, a figure blocked his path.
"It's you?"
Abaddon narrowed his eyes. His helmet had long been shattered by Guilliman, his eye sockets swollen and bruised, his vision filled with red, yet he could still make out the figure blocking him.
"Emrys!"
"It's me."
Emrys raised an eyebrow, his blade held horizontally in front of him, and grinned, "Sorry, today—you're dead. I said it, even if the Four Gods come, it's useless!"
What a big mouth!
Abaddon sneered, "You think you can stop me?!"
Although some of the black Legion's forces were tied up by the Ultramarines, for him, the greatest threat, Guilliman, was already held back by Fulgrim. So the remaining people simply couldn't stop him!
"Yes, just me."
Emrys nodded calmly, "To kill you—I alone am enough. There's no need for the Primarch to personally intervene."
"Good!" Abaddon's anger surged. His broken 'Talon of Horus' clenched, emitting a terrifying metallic screech, and a ferocious, sinister smile appeared on his face, "I didn't expect you to deliver yourself to my doorstep. It saves me the pain!"
Bang!
Abaddon took a step, and a fierce, tyrannical aura surged like a tsunami, "Don't worry, I won't kill you—I'll cut off your limbs, cut out your tongue, and then take you back—to offer you to the Four Chaos Gods. I'm sure they'll be very pleased!"
"Sorry, I'm afraid you won't have that chance."
Emrys smiled faintly, seemingly not taking the Chaos Warmaster seriously at all. He beckoned him with a finger, mocking him with extreme disdain, "Come on, mere Abaddon, I'll show you my true strength right now!"
"Good! Good! Good!"
Abaddon was truly angered to laughter.
He had dominated battlefields for ten thousand years; what kind of person hadn't he seen?
But someone like Emrys, still showing off even when facing death, he had never seen before today!
Especially that mouth. So vile!
Absolutely to the extreme!
"Let's see what strength you have!!!" Abaddon decided not to waste any more words with this foul-mouthed bastard. He would crush him directly with his powerful strength!
"Warmaster, we'll help you!" The Terminator next to him had just opened his mouth when Abaddon glared at him with a sinister, murderous look, staring him back into silence.
"Shut up!"
Abaddon's forehead veins throbbed wildly, "A mere human, do you think I'm afraid of him?!"
This suggestion was like stomping hard on Abaddon's already shattered self-esteem!
"Get out of the way!"
Abaddon walked towards Emrys alone.
Through the previous battle, he had a rough understanding of Emrys' strength, which was not to be feared at all. The only thing he needed to be concerned about was the strange 'daemon artifact' in his hand.
That blade was a bit sinister!
Seeing Abaddon's gaze fall on 'Atropos', Emrys smiled slightly and then put the blade into his personal space, "Don't worry, to deal with you—I don't even need it."
Abaddon's face darkened, and he gritted his teeth, "I hope your bones are as hard as your mouth later!"
As a result...
Emrys, with a flick of his wrist, pulled out a greatsword from who knows where. It glowed with a fierce aura, entwined with countless wailing souls, a mix of blood-red and black flames.
"Hmm, using this against you is just right."
Abaddon's pupils suddenly contracted.
"D-Drach'nyen?!"
That's right, the greatsword Emrys pulled out of his personal space for the second time was none other than Abaddon's daemon artifact, the daemon sword Drach'nyen, bestowed upon him by the Four Gods!
First, one thing must be declared.
Emrys definitely had no special fetishes, but snatching someone else's 'Divine Artifact' right in front of them was simply too tempting; he couldn't resist!
If he had to say...
It was probably just — he, Emrys, made a mistake that any man would make.
"How did Drach'nyen end up in your hands?!" Abaddon completely lost his composure. This sword, in a sense, symbolized his status and authority, and also the Four Gods' 'appreciation' for him!
But now, this daemon sword, which represented his honor, status, and authority, had fallen into the hands of a human. And most importantly, he couldn't understand why a mere human could wield the daemon sword Drach'nyen?!
Aren't you from the Imperium?!
Seeing Abaddon's dumbfounded expression, Emrys became even more smug. He tilted his head, staring at him with a half-smile.
"There's a slight problem with that statement, Warmaster. I saw it lying on the ground, so I picked it up to use for a bit. Didn't expect it to be quite good."
As he spoke, he casually swung the sword, striking the ground beside him, then stomped on it a few times.
"Hmm, you know, it's pretty sturdy."
"Let go of Drach'nyen!!!"
Abaddon's eyes widened, bloodshot, as he roared.
"Give it back to me, you despicable thief!!!"
His daemon sword, which he usually meticulously cared for, was now being used casually by someone else, even defiled by dirty shoe soles. This 'daemon artifact' given to him by the Chaos Gods to display his authority, was being treated worse than the humiliation of being beaten by a Primarch. This thought consumed Abaddon, making him uncontrollably furious, his sanity almost snapping!
"Give it back to you? Why should I?"
Emrys said calmly.
"My elders told me that anything left on the ground is unwanted by others, so if I pick it up, it's mine."
"You're full of it!!!"
Abaddon's eyes were filled with the 'daemon sword's' image. He didn't want to waste any more words with Emrys and charged forward directly. The Talon of Horus suddenly extended, its target clearly the 'daemon sword'!
Emrys sighed inwardly.
Alas, he had tried his best to stall for time, but a direct confrontation was ultimately unavoidable.
Emrys' reaction to Abaddon's attempt to seize the sword was swift. Gripping the daemon sword, his arm muscles suddenly swelled as if inflated, and his entire body grew to about two meters!
This was also a type of psychic ability.
Based on the flesh, he could temporarily boost his strength, speed, and reactions several times over, enough to contend with a Space Marine!
"Hnngh!!!" Emrys was wreathed in boiling bloodlust. The heavy and enormous daemon sword, like a dark iron pillar, was swung in a wide arc, accompanied by a terrifying whooshing sound, 'smashing' towards Abaddon!
Thwack!!!
Abaddon's outstretched palm was struck squarely. The immense force nearly accelerated the cracking of the Talon of Horus, which was already on the verge of being shattered by the Primarch!
Abaddon hadn't expected Emrys to suddenly erupt with such immense strength. He was knocked back several steps, his face filled with shock.
"Give it back to me! Emrys!"
Abaddon's face was grim. That last blow had made him feel a little troublesome.
"Give it to you? Is the Warmaster not fully awake?" Emrys deliberately feigned surprise, then showily waved the 'daemon sword' in front of Abaddon. Seeing his eyes follow it, he couldn't help but laugh.
"You say this thing is yours — alright, then call out to it, and see if it answers you?"
"Drach'nyen! Come back!"
Abaddon was full of confidence.
His bond with the daemon sword was something no mere human could obstruct. He believed that with just one call, the soul within the daemon sword would respond to him, its true Sir!
However, all that awaited Abaddon was an awkward silence.
Abaddon looked at Emrys' half-smile, which seemed to be mocking and ridiculing him, and his unease intensified.
But with the warriors of the black Legion watching behind him, he had no choice but to grit his teeth. He once again extended his hand towards the 'daemon sword Drach'nyen' and growled.
"Drach'nyen! I am your Sir, Abaddon! Hurry and come back?!"
Daemon swords have 'souls'.
Or rather, they 'imprison' the soul of a daemon. But at this moment, this daemon remained silent, not responding to Abaddon's summons.
"Drach'nyen?" A terrifying thought suddenly occupied Abaddon's mind, but he refused to believe it. He violently shook his head and roared.
"Drach'nyen, come back quickly! I know you can do it! Break free from this human's control and return to your Sir!"
Silence, still silence.
Emrys let out a laugh, his mocking gaze making Abaddon's heart almost stop.
"Don't bother calling, it won't go back — your daemon sword is now my shape, isn't that right, Drach'nyen?"
Drach'nyen, which had been silent, suddenly let out a faint hum, as if responding to Emrys!
This scene made Abaddon's heart stop.
"No, this is impossible—!" His face contorted in a snarl, he roared and charged at Emrys again.
"Drach'nyen is mine! I am its true Sir! It must be you—you used some evil witchcraft to control Drach'nyen!!!"
But what responded to Abaddon was the daemon sword Drach'nyen's ferocious, dark flames!
Boom!!!
Terrifying Warp evil psychic energy surged out like a tsunami, wielded by Emrys with abandon and delight. He actually managed to suppress Abaddon!
At the same time, what broke Abaddon's heart even more was...
"Warmaster, your daemon sword is really easy to use!"
"Why aren't you speaking, Warmaster!"
"Warmaster, your face looks so bad, why aren't you smiling? Do you not like to smile?
Emrys' mouth never stopped, relentlessly trampling on Abaddon's remaining sanity. His mocking words were like sharp blades, stabbing into his shattered self-esteem and heart!
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up—!!!"
Abaddon completely lost his mind, his eyes bloodshot, roaring like a wounded beast.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I must kill you—Emrys!!!"
"Warmaster! No, Warmaster!"
The black Legion's adjutant's expression changed drastically.
"Warmaster, don't let him provoke you. Our mission is to retreat, don't pursue him!"
However, one sentence from Emrys plunged the slightly recovered Abaddon back into the abyss of rage.
"Oh, oh, oh, the mighty Chaos Warmaster, who even lost his own daemon sword, can't even beat a regular human, and has to run away? I think you shouldn't be called the Chaos Warmaster; how about the Chaos Turtle? You're so good at running. If your father Horus had even a third of your skill back then, he wouldn't have been chopped into mincemeat by the Emperor."
"Shut up!!!"
At this moment, Abaddon had completely lost his sanity, with only one thought in his mind: to kill Emrys and reclaim his dignity!
"Stop! Don't run!" He furiously abandoned the black Legion guards and charged at the fleeing Emrys, completely disregarding his surroundings, his eyes fixed only on that damned, foul-mouthed bastard!
The adjutant despaired.
Fulgrim, however, couldn't help but twitch his lips. Uncharacteristically, he didn't act like a jerk and seriously looked at Guilliman.
"Is his mouth always this foul?"
Even more rarely, Guilliman didn't bicker with the traitor. Instead, he pondered for a few seconds, then nodded.
"Yes, always this foul."