Chapter 1134 Abaddon: I fought more than 20 Primarchs?
His landing was so perfect that the Khan stepped right on the face of a cabal warrior who leaned his head out to take a look.
The dark elf wearing a heavy helmet had not yet reacted before his entire skull was crushed into a purple-black paste by the power boots.
"Good afternoon." The Khan drew his power scimitar before the body fell to the ground. "Mind if I take a ride?"
Chaos suddenly broke out on the deck.
Witches wearing skeletal armor emerged from every corner, the long whips of pain in their hands spitting out like poisonous snakes, and the purple light bullets from the explosive guns wove a web of death around the Khan.
Chagatai's movements were like some deadly dance.
He dodged the first whip shadow by moving sideways, and his scimitar drew a crescent-shaped arc, and the heads of three witch spirits flew up at the same time.
The second bullet grazed his shoulder armor, and he spun along, his blade accurately splitting every inch of the gunman's flesh from collarbone to hipbone.
"Too slow." He commented, and at the same time stabbed the throat of the attacker behind him with a backhand knife.
When the sixth body fell, the remaining Dark Eldar tried to escape, but it was too late.
As Khan was about to give chase, the whole ship suddenly tilted violently, and the pilot in front tried to throw him off by making a sharp turn.
He knelt on one knee to steady himself, but heard a loud sound of metal tearing above his head.
Looking up, I saw a three-meter-high pain engine tearing through the cabin roof and jumping down.
This monster, made of living metal and dark eldar slaves, has six mechanical arms, each holding a rotating serrated knife. In the central cockpit, the Lord of the Cabal is showing a cruel smile.
"White Scar's wild dog." The lord's voice was processed by a voice changer, like glass scraping metal, "You will become the most--"
The Khan did not let him finish.
He hurled the scimitar violently, and the spinning blade precisely split the cockpit glass of the Pain Engine, cutting off half of his head in front of the lord's astonished gaze.
The out-of-control monster fell to the ground with a thud, and the Khan had already leaped onto its wreckage, tearing a serrated long knife from its twitching mechanical hands.
"Sorry," he flicked the purple blood off the knife, "I'm in a hurry."
As the scream of the last Dark Eldar came to an abrupt end, the Khan, standing on the bridge full of corpses, suddenly pressed his chest.
An indescribable throbbing came from deep within the gene seed, as if a star in the distant direction of Terra had suddenly gone out.
An image flashed before his eyes: on the golden throne, a withered body was turning into particles of light and dissipating.
"Father......"
The moment these words came out of his mouth, an abnormal psychic fluctuation suddenly came from the depths of the webway.
Something a million times more massive than the Dark Eldar was approaching, its aura both strange and familiar, like the Emperor, yet different.
Khan's communicator suddenly activated automatically, and a figure wearing a golden laurel crown emerged in the holographic projection.
The star map behind the man showed a completely unfamiliar arrangement of galaxies, the most eye-catching of which was a planet called Terra, which was surrounded by a silver ring.
“Jaghatai Khan,” the newcomer’s voice said with an odd resonance. “I am Yang Cheng, Successor to the Emperor. Need a ride back to Terra?”
The White Scar Lord narrowed his golden eyes slightly. He looked at the plunder ship full of corpses at his feet, and then looked at the golden fleet vaguely visible at the end of the webway.
The scimitar made a beautiful knife flower at the fingertips.
“Nice bike.” He hopped back on his hoverbike. “But mine is faster.”
........................
In the domed meeting hall of the imperial palace, the air was as thick as lead.
The Llane El'Jonson of this universe had his fingers clasped around the hilt of the Lionsword, his knuckles turning white with the effort.
His pupils were fixed on the figure standing at the steps of the throne. That man was Yang Cheng, the "Emperor" who claimed to be from a parallel universe. The golden laurel crown on his head was emitting the same psychic fluctuations as his father.
But what made the Lion King even more alert were the twenty-one tall figures behind Yang Cheng.
They wore unfamiliar armor, painted in dazzlingly bright colors, without a single scar left by the Warmaster's rebellion in this universe.
The most terrifying thing are the faces, Horus, Angron, Magnus, Lorgar...
The name that should have belonged to a traitor, but now it stood in the most sacred hall of the palace, looking calmly into his eyes.
“Explain it.”
Ryan's voice was like the friction of an iceberg. "Otherwise, the next sword will chop off your head."
Before Yang Cheng could respond, a tall figure covered in wolf skin behind him had already taken half a step forward.
The Lion looked at Horus in front of him. There was no chaotic scarlet in the eyes of Horus, only the calmness of a warrior: "Brother, we understand your vigilance. But everyone here has fought for humanity until the last moment."
"Okay, so what do you need us to do now?"
Several Primarchs of the universe already knew roughly everything, and they were ready to immediately devote themselves to their work. In the depths of the Warp, Abaddon also learned everything.
Deep within the Eye of Terror, the Black Legion flagship, the Vengeful Spirit
The roar of Abaddon the Chaos Warmaster echoed across the bridge like shards of glass scraping against steel.
The chaos runes on his black power armor glowed with a sickly purple light, and the power blessed by the Four Gods boiled in his veins.
He stood in front of the tactical holographic table, his scarlet eyes fixed on the star map in the direction of Terra, the corners of his mouth twisted into a hideous smile.
"He's dead!" Abaddon's voice was hoarse with excitement, "The false emperor has finally rotted!"
His iron fist smashed into the holographic table, the data stream instantly twisted and shattered, and Terra's projection exploded into countless points of light.
The Chaos Lords around him lowered their heads, not daring to look directly at the Warmaster's ecstasy.
Over the past ten thousand years, Abaddon has launched thirteen Black Crusades, each time stopped by the rotting corpse on the Golden Throne and his hounds.
And now, the final obstacle has disappeared.
"The empire is now nothing more than a decaying tower!" Abaddon raised a long sword, the blade humming as if thirsting for blood.
“We just need a little push—”
"I'm afraid it's not that simple, Warmaster."
A cold voice interrupted his declaration.
Abaddon turned around suddenly and saw Huron, the Red Pirate King, leaning against the hatch. His scarlet mechanical arm was slowly rotating, making a hydraulically driven hissing sound.
There was a calculating gleam in his single eye, and he was clearly not as optimistic as Abaddon.
"Speak." Abaddon's voice suddenly cooled.
Huron stepped forward and tapped the holographic table with his mechanical fingers. The shattered projection regrouped and displayed Terra's latest intelligence.
An unprecedentedly large fleet was circling the solar system, and even more disturbing was that the signals of those primarchs who were confirmed dead or missing were reappearing one after another.
"All the Primarchs have returned, Warmaster." Huron's voice was filled with cold warning, "Dorn, Lion, even Leman Russ, Corax and others -"
