Thick liquid surged from the pipes, injecting into the shattered body.
His eyes were gouged out, his eyelids sewn neatly with uniform threads, his lips peeled away, his teeth meticulously removed, and the steel spikes that once held his upper and lower teeth were pulled out by Vashtorr.
His arms and legs were nowhere to be found, nor was the part of his torso below his chest; his internal organs floated in a verdant liquid, and his two hearts and three lungs were faintly visible from the severed edges.
His skin had also been patiently peeled off; the flayer's skill was shockingly exquisite, completely removing Abaddon's skin without damaging the muscles beneath, exposing Abaddon's crimson muscles, which slowly writhed and twitched.
That tormentor even brutally cut off Abaddon's topknot!
But this did not mean that Abaddon was ugly at this moment.
Vashtorr looked at Abaddon with an appreciative gaze.
He had to admit, Abaddon was at the peak of his attractiveness at this very moment.
Abaddon's limbs were cut so precisely, symmetrically, and without error; the cuts on his torso perfectly made Abaddon's body conform to the golden ratio; the internal organs that fell from his flesh and blood torso seemed to hang randomly, but in reality, his intestines were coiled into a Fibonacci sequence, secured with steel needles.
Excess intestines and organs like the liver were excised, leaving only the colon to hang naturally, pulled by a pear-shaped metal object inserted into it, forming a golden triangle with the two hearts slightly protruding from the upper torso.
His skinless muscles were also not without design; the dust on his muscles was meticulously wiped clean, and then fresh blood was injected into them, shaping his muscles to a ruby-red color, while also swelling just right, making his form slender yet robust.
Vashtorr could feel the ingenuity of the one who modified Abaddon, and that one's aesthetic sensibility.
Even a mortal so ignorant as to have no knowledge of the beauty of proportion would, besides fear, instinctively perceive beauty in Abaddon's mutilated body.
In fact, Vashtorr was unwilling to call it a mutilated body.
From an aesthetic and mathematical perspective, Abaddon at this moment was actually more complete, more perfect than before.
"Is…is this the cooperation you promised?"
Abaddon opened his toothless mouth.
Even in this state, he had not died.
Vashtorr could only lament the immense power of the Four Gods; if they said Abaddon would not die, he would not die.
He also desired to ascend to such a position, reach the ultimate realm, and then exhaust the principles of all things, clarify the nature of mind and matter in both realms, achieve a truly unconstrained state, seek the knowledge he desired, create the things he desired, regardless of morality, regardless of justice, regardless of stance.
"I collected so many key fragments for you! Yet you abandoned me!"
"Vashtorr! You bastard!!!"
Abaddon roared at Vashtorr, his voice hoarse, his incomplete body trembling uncontrollably, somewhat disrupting its original beauty.
"One of my bodies was destroyed by Doraemon's Greater Daemons and Chosen."
Vashtorr said calmly, Abaddon's roar did not stir his anger in the slightest:
"This was an act of force majeure, not a breach of my contract, as documented in clause 1679 of our contract's supplementary notes."
"Who the hell can read all your contracts!!!" Abaddon roared, seething.
Now he was missing all his limbs, a large number of internal organs had been removed, two-thirds of his spine had been extracted, and his skin was completely peeled off; he was practically a cripple.
If not for the blessings of the Gods clinging to his life, he would have been utterly dead.
"You must heal me! You must make me stand again!!" Abaddon said in a hoarse voice.
Vashtorr sighed, somewhat wearily.
What did Abaddon think he was doing?
Even before Abaddon woke up, Vashtorr had already begun treating him.
It was known that Fulgrim had inserted over a thousand barbed needles into Abaddon's three lungs, and Vashtorr had to remove them one by one to avoid affecting subsequent treatment.
"Of course, I will heal you; this is stipulated in Article 138 of our contract."
"Namely: Vashtorr is obligated to treat Warmaster Abaddon's current and future injuries in the manner it deems best, to ensure Abaddon performs his duty of helping Vashtorr collect key fragments in optimal condition."
Vashtorr said in his calm and unquestionable tone:
"I will make you stand again, enable you to wield Demon Sword Drach'nyen once more, allow you to re-equip Horus' Claw, restore your fighting ability, and even make you taller, stronger, and more powerful than before."
Vashtorr's words carried a sincerity Abaddon had not felt in a long time.
His instincts told him Vashtorr was not lying.
"Really?" But Abaddon still couldn't help but ask, with a hint of doubt.
He truly didn't trust these Warp entities, even though Vashtorr had long behaved somewhat differently.
"This is stipulated in our contract, and I will never violate a contract I personally signed." Vashtorr said, his tone firm to the point of being unquestionable.
For a moment, Abaddon was even a little moved, feeling that Vashtorr was truly different.
He wasn't like other Warp entities, full of lies and riddles; he said what he meant, spoke bluntly, and everything was written in the contract.
Honest, reliable, trustworthy.
Vashtorr directed a squad of Iron Warriors to lift the stasis pod containing Abaddon and exit the treatment room.
"How will you heal me?" Abaddon, lifted in the stasis pod, felt a little uncomfortable.
He felt the stasis pod was somewhat like a coffin, and he was a corpse being carried in it, about to be buried in his own grave.
This thought made Abaddon uneasy, causing him to ask.
"It is the best healing technology I possess."
Vashtorr answered calmly and directly:
"Since I took on the task of treating the wound on your chest, I have been pondering how to maintain your combat effectiveness long-term."
"That was a wound left by the power of the Four Gods; even if I ascended to godhood, I might not be able to perfectly remove it. This is a huge challenge for me."
"Fortunately, after much deliberation, I finally found the correct method."
"I built a medical machine. This machine is the crystallization of all my creativity, serving both as a medical pod to restore your mobility and a war weapon that can make you incomparably powerful."
"To build it, I even paid a considerable price, acquiring Perturabo's technical support, and combining it with the enchantment techniques you obtained from Lorgar, to complete it."
"And now, it has found its purpose."
Abaddon once again felt sincerity in Vashtorr's words, and his trust in Vashtorr deepened further.
"But why don't I know about the existence of this machine?" Abaddon, however, still asked with doubts.
Vashtorr suddenly turned his head, staring at Abaddon in the stasis pod with eyes as red as a furnace fire.
"I sent the information about this machine to your desk five months ago, document number 65-978."
Abaddon was instantly a little embarrassed.
Vashtorr was indeed sincere enough; every single thing he did, every machine he designed, every plan he formulated, he would write into thick documents and send them to Abaddon's desk.
Abaddon did try to read some, but eventually found it impossible to finish, so he simply gave up.
Vashtorr did not criticize Abaddon for this, but merely nodded slightly, then continued to walk at the front of the procession, leading the Iron Warriors to carry Abaddon into a room deep within the Vengeful Spirit.
Abaddon had never seen this room, nor had he ever known of its existence, and he didn't understand when it had appeared.
But Abaddon didn't find it strange; after all, the Vengeful Spirit was as vast as a city, and he couldn't fully comprehend it. Moreover, the Vengeful Spirit had been subjected to high-intensity Warp corruption, so the appearance of a few unseen rooms was quite normal.
The room was filled with various machines, wetware, components, and tools of all kinds.
Large machines, clearly for assembling something, were still humming, emitting hot steam mixed with Warp energy, and vaguely, daemons, Warp smiths, and members of the Dark Adeptus Mechanicus could be seen moving between the machines.
Soon, Abaddon's stasis pod stopped, but it was still held aloft by the Iron Warriors, not yet set down.
Abaddon was facing the ceiling, his vision restricted, unable to clearly see his surroundings.
He could only barely twist his body, lift his head, and glance around with the corner of his eye.
The first thing he saw was a figure like a giant steel wall.
That was Perturabo, who seemed to be assembling something.
And by Perturabo's side, there were actually seven ferocious daemons standing.
One was almost human-like, with purple skin, covered in numerous scarlet, beautiful flowers, a slender figure, deep-set eyes, like an addict.
One was fat and corpulent, appearing to be a Great Unclean One, but extremely clean, with no nurglings or other bacteria proliferating on him.
One was tall and strong, human from the waist up, but with the lower body of a horse, glowing with a crimson, bloody hue, holding a saber and a recurve bow, with countless skulls hanging from his waist.
One had a cunning face, a bird's head, and a blue body, holding a pyramid in his hands, which upon closer inspection was found to be composed of thousands of people stacked layer upon layer.
One was like black iron all over, prostrate on the ground, pierced by countless ammunition belts, his head a protruding gun barrel, dark and hollow as if it had devoured many lives.
One was a giant locust, dripping with blood, eyes protruding like a frog's, legs like those of dead livestock, wings like a fly's, with hailstones still falling on his body.
The last one was hard to describe, like an octopus, like a star, like a non-Euclidean geometric sculpture, yet impossible to describe with precise words, as if utterly unknowable, unnameable, like some kind of twisted, grotesque thing beyond reason.
And also, Abaddon's Demon Sword Drach'nyen was placed among the seven daemons.
These seven daemons and drach'nyen formed a circle, surrounding a massive machine in the center.
Upon seeing that machine, Abaddon's pupils immediately constricted, and he let out the sharpest shriek he could produce.