Chapter 139: Abaddon Activated!
It's better not to look at it, because once you do, it's even more suffocating.
Francis's Abyss Roar continued to deform.
Boom!
A colossal titan appeared on Gamon, each step it took shaking the earth. Its massive mechanical feet crushed the corpses and debris on the ground with a deafening roar.
The shoulder-mounted cannons fired in unison, shattering the Void Raven bombers hovering in the air. The wreckage fell like meteors, triggering a series of explosions.
Every part of the Abyss Roar concealed deadly weapons; it wielded devastation with abandon, turning everything in its path into scorched earth.
The Dark Eldar originally relied on speed to win, and against such a massive titan, their attacks were like tickling.
"Tch! I've wanted to say this for a long time! The fact that his Abyss-class warship can transform into a titan is simply illogical!" Perturabo cursed under his breath upon seeing this, his voice cutting through the comm channel.
"And judging from the looks of it, it wasn't achieved using Imperial technology..." Ferrus scratched his head and continued, his tone uncertain.
In the ruins of a collapsed palace, the nobles of the Dark Eldar gathered around a broken table.
Caught between the Imperium and the daemons, and having lost their existing resurrection devices, they were gradually becoming unable to fight any longer.
One of the noblemen had his face hidden beneath a magnificent helmet, but his eyes were filled with fear and rage. He rose from his seat abruptly.
"We've done everything we can, but the enemy is too monstrous! Not only do they keep opening rifts, but they also attracted Him!"
"They have absolutely no sense of honor!" He roared in a hoarse voice.
"And it seems that someone is specifically targeting the Bloodlings; many people have been ambushed and killed beyond repair." Another nobleman beside him sobbed softly, his face showing deep weariness and frustration. His shoulders trembled.
"We must withdraw from Gamon. The longer we delay, the more dangerous it becomes. This time, the enemy is clearly well-prepared."
At this moment, the thin Asdrubael Vect slowly stood up, his gaze gloomy and cold, his voice calm and suppressed.
At this moment, all the nobles clenched their fists; the feeling of humiliation was truly exhilarating.
Although they should have been angry, it was so exciting that their bodies trembled uncontrollably, as if they were about to climax.
A consensus was finally reached: survival was the only option. The order was quickly relayed to all units.
With the order given, the nobles of the Dark Eldar began to assemble their armies and quickly evacuated their once grand and luxurious palaces and bases.
The aftershocks of the battle were still reverberating, but the pace of the retreat had already begun to accelerate.
The shattered fleet began its voyage into the webway, abandoning Gamon to the Imperium's flames.
Upon witnessing this scene, Francis couldn't help but shake his head and sigh. He lowered his hand from the observation window. "I wasn't even finished yet, and you were already done!"
Khan: "..."
Perturabo: "..."
Ferrus: "..."
Ignoring their disdain, Francis pulled out his ork comm and called Sarpedon.
Bzzzt... Bzzzt...
Bzzzt... Bzzzt...
In the Grand Plaza of Terra, Sarpedon stood behind a makeshift stall, surrounded by a chaotic and noisy scene.
Holding a brightly colored sign high, it read, "Recycling Second-hand Cult Members, Price Negotiable!" The lettering was large and eye-catching, shimmering with an incongruous brilliance.
Sarpedon, dressed in Terminator power armor, stood out somewhat from the other merchants present.
"Recycling secondhand cult members! Don't miss out!" His voice boomed across the plaza.
"Anyone who has cult members can exchange them for any resources here, first come, first served."
"Officially authorized by the Imperium, personally signed by the Primarch!" He shouted as he gestured to passersby, his movements broad and deliberate.
Terran citizens, Imperial soldiers, and even some members of special agencies passing by in the main square all stopped and turned their attention to this strange stall. They exchanged uncertain looks.
Imperial Guard patrol: "..."
Not only that, even the Inquisitorial observers were watching from a distance, completely baffled as to what he was trying to do.
Just then, the ork comm rang from Sarpedon's armor.
Bzzzt... Bzzzt...
"Hello?" Sarpedon answered, pressing the device to his ear.
Francis's voice came from the other end. "We've finished dealing with them here. We're not taking any more cult members for now. But if it's a large quantity and the price is right, we can take some at a discount."
"Remember, put all of this batch in the stasis device. It has to be the best quality, the kind that's particularly obsessed with Chaos."
"All the defective products go to the Magos of Restoration. Tell her they're experimental materials I sent."
Snap!
He hung up immediately after speaking, leaving Sarpedon stunned and muttering to himself. He stood motionless for a moment.
"This operation ended way too fast, I haven't even deployed yet..."
There was no way around it; the commander's orders were absolute. Sarpedon quickly packed his things and prepared to leave, moving with practiced efficiency.
Just then, someone else walked over, and Sarpedon quickly waved his hand, saying impatiently. "I won't accept anymore, I won't accept anymore."
Meanwhile, the Grey Knight Sacher on the other side looked embarrassed. He stepped forward, his armor clanking softly.
"I'm here to ask, what does Lord Francis want with these cultists?"
"Our Inquisition frequently arrests cult members..."
Upon hearing this, Sarpedon turned around sharply. In his mind, he only heard two words: "Stable supply!"
"Let's discuss this in detail..." Sarpedon gestured for Sacher to follow.
Deep within the Eye of Terror, a planet floated, filled with an aura of Chaos.
A magnificent but dilapidated palace stood in this world.
The ancient eldar ruins had been transformed into a fortress of Chaos, with deep murmurs echoing through its profound corridors.
Abaddon, the First Captain of the Sons of Horus, stood silently in the center of the hall, clad in power armor and wielding the Talon of Horus.
He was covered in dust, and no one knew how long he had been standing there. The main hall doors slowly opened, and three figures stepped inside.
Falkus Kibre was the first to speak, his voice low and angry. He approached Abaddon deliberately. "Abaddon, how much longer are you going to wait? The death of Horus was a disgrace to us, and now you stand here unmoved?"
He took a step forward and pointed to the distant starry sky. "Don't you even want to retrieve your father's body? Are you just going to continue living like this, in a daze?"
Abaddon's gaze flickered slightly, but he did not respond.
Iskandar Khayon stepped out from behind Falkus, his deep voice carrying an ancient weight. He stood to the side, arms crossed.
"Falkus's words, though harsh, make sense. Don't you have any thoughts on this at all?"
He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed intently on Abaddon. "Abaddon is Horus's most trusted son. Only you can lead us to complete this unfinished revenge."
Abaddon remained silent, but his hands clenched slightly, as if anger was burning within him. His knuckles whitened.
Lheor stepped forward from the shadows, his voice low and deep, as if it came from the abyss. "Are all the Sons of Horus cowards? They've been humiliated right before our eyes, and we're still cowering here like turtles!"
At this moment, the hall fell into a deathly silence.
Abaddon finally raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the three men like a razor's edge.
"I just didn't understand it before, but now I do! I will be Horus's successor! Inherit everything from him, including his mission!"
"Avenge Horus! Fight for the glory of the Warmaster! We will make all our enemies kneel and make the galaxy tremble!" He spoke slowly, his voice deep and powerful. His form straightened, shoulders back.
At the same time, he also realized that he needed to win over Chaos as an ally, but he would never become a slave to their will. Otherwise, he would end up like Horus, completely losing himself.
Abaddon turned and strode out of the hall, his pace deliberate and commanding. The three followed closely behind, their footsteps echoing through the chamber.
Boarding the Vengeful Spirit, they headed towards the daemon world where the Sons of Horus now dwelt in shame and defeat.
[End of Chapter]
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