As an Astartes Warrior, Abaddon had fought for his Gene-Father, for the Emperor of Mankind, and for the Imperium for seventy long years.
Perhaps it would soon be eighty years.
Even among all Astartes Warriors, this was considered a long and distinguished service record.
But even Abaddon, First Captain of the Luna Wolves Legion, Horus's most trusted Reckless Progeny, a backbone of the Council of Four Kings, and a brutal killer who had experienced countless bloody and bizarre wars, would swear to anyone he worshipped or believed in: what he saw before him was absolutely a scene he had never witnessed before.
Disgust, rage, and even fear, which Astartes Warriors theoretically shouldn't experience: these emotions howled incessantly in the chest of the Luna Wolf, truly present.
Abaddon clenched his jaw tightly, his forehead and neck veins bulging like thick tree trunks. This proudest Son of Horus, holding a sword in one hand and wielding a claw in the other, had both weapons already drenched in blood.
The black and crimson mingled, emitting the same foul odor, making it impossible to distinguish between the blood of monsters and the Luna Wolf's own.
Abaddon had no time to focus on such details. He was concentrating all his attention, sparing no effort, sensing every clue in the darkness. He knew that in the gloom, which even a Thermal Imaging Sensor couldn't fully penetrate, there were monsters capable of killing Astartes.
The mission to find the Primarch had long since turned into a struggle for their own survival. Even the Sons of Morgan had no doubt about this. After finding the constantly squirming flesh blocks sealing all paths, even Hektor agreed to a temporary retreat to find new reinforcements.
But they couldn't get out.
The path they had taken was now swallowed by writhing masses of flesh. In the unpredictable flesh labyrinth, one steel corridor after another, drenched in crimson and pale white, constantly distorted their memories and perception.
Everyone tried desperately to recall the path they had taken and uniformly pointed to a corridor; however, there was nothing there but an ever-expanding wall of flesh.
With no other option, they stepped onto the newly appeared paths.
Then, they were attacked.
Although Abaddon's battle cries and warnings had sounded long ago, the first actual combat only truly began much later.
In the intricate, constantly shifting corridors, they encountered those monsters: fusions of steel, flesh, and power; grotesque creations that paradoxically revealed a certain technology and rational thought.
They lurked in the shadows, appearing in groups, greedily eyeing every Astartes Warrior. Combat erupted the moment both sides discovered each other. The Astartes Warriors' Bolter Rounds mercilessly struck the twisted monsters, and immediately after, they faced a similar counterattack.
The monsters' roars were irrational, pure bestial howls, but accompanying these roars were dense barrages of fire and fierce swordsmanship, as if it were a congenital instinct or muscle memory.
Abaddon resisted these assaults, and a terrifying thought spontaneously arose in his mind. He tried hard to deny this thought, because its mere appearance made the most reckless Luna Wolf's hair stand on end.
The battle raged in the darkness. For the Luna Wolves and the Sons of Morgan, it was an exceptionally difficult struggle. They were forced to charge blindly through a completely unfamiliar dark world, simultaneously trying to decipher any possible patterns in the flesh-filled passages while resisting an increasing number of terrifying opponents.
Every time they killed a monster, more, completely different monsters would charge out of the shadows, roaring.
Casualties quickly mounted.
Abaddon clearly remembered that at the very beginning, six Sons of Morgan and forty-three Luna Wolves had entered this vast underground world. Fifteen of them were elite Justaerin Terminators.
When Primarch Morgan suddenly disappeared, they left ten support personnel in the incredibly vast underground assembly hall to guide the incoming Luna Wolves reinforcements. The moment Morgan disappeared, Abaddon had already sent an urgent communication to his Gene-Father. He believed Warmaster Horus would arrive with a team within one Terra Standard Hour.
Thus, the remaining thirty-three Astartes Warriors, including Abaddon himself and all fifteen Justaerin Terminators, entered the flesh passage. That was less than half a Terra Standard Hour ago.
And now, they had... twenty left.
The remaining thirteen, including several of the most elite Justaerin Terminators, had fallen to the claws of the terrifying unknown creations in the shadows. These seemingly savage creatures were not pure beasts;
they used various weapons, even including Plasma (Weaponry) and Individual Heavy Weapons. It was these, combined with the narrow confines of the passages, that killed the most powerful Luna Wolves.
Enduring such casualties, the group finally reached another space. This was a grand hall, which seemed to be a small assembly square. Although not as vast as the previous assembly hall, it was large enough for the Terminators to spread out their battle array and unleash their strength.
The twenty warriors needed no communication at this point. They charged into this spacious slaughterhouse, gathering in the center of the most open square. Terminators arrayed in front, supporting each other, while the remaining warriors hid behind these reliable brothers, wary of silently infiltrating opponents. The only two Psykers among the Sons of Morgan continuously released their Psychic Energy, bringing light.
In the flickering light, the roars of beasts followed one after another. These greedy predators pursued the Astartes' footsteps, crawling on the ground, clinging to the walls, and even approaching inch by inch from the ceiling with their twisted claws, dripping saliva.
Only at this moment did Abaddon truly see the appearance of these monsters.
Although each was different, they all looked broadly similar: their bodies were even taller than an Astartes, with humanoid upper bodies and large heads. Their lower limbs reminded Abaddon of dinosaurs he had seen in books, and they even possessed a tail bristling with spikes.
In contrast to the disgusting flesh around them, these monsters looked remarkably cold and "clean." Their entire bodies were encased in a layer of black carapace, which surprisingly possessed a sci-fi aesthetic. Coupled with their meter-long claws, or blades and weapons fused into their fingers, they looked more like some kind of broken soldiers.
As the Luna Wolf focused his gaze on the limbs and bodies of these monsters, he felt a strange sense of familiarity.
He had never seen them before, but he saw many past shadows in them.
Their chests and heads were too similar to humans, their arms had an uncanny resemblance to the Randan Xenomorphs he had just fought, and every detail of their hind limbs, their tails, every part of their bodies...
It seemed they were all parts of those formidable Xenos who had once been enemies of humanity...
An unsettling feeling lingered in Abaddon's heart, growing heavier and heavier.
But he had no time to think, for these uncommunicative predators were scrambling to rush their battle array.
Without hesitation or communication, relying on the unspoken understanding forged in the recent bloodbath, the Sons of Horus and the Sons of Morgan formed an unshakeable defensive line.
Then, fire and fight.
——————
The battle lasted fifteen minutes.
Both sides suffered casualties, but the monsters, which showed no understanding of coordinated combat, clearly had greater losses.
Abaddon's ruthless gaze swept over the monsters lying at his feet. As he looked at their broken faces, he felt an increasingly familiar sensation.
Just as he was feeling perplexed, a heavy breath slowly echoed from the deepest part of the passage into the hall.
Abaddon looked up: the Thermal Imaging Sensor told him that a colossal entity was approaching.
Almost in the next moment, this massive monster appeared before Abaddon. He even had to crane his neck to barely see the creature's face.
Then.
A look of horror, fear, and a nearly primal distortion and howl appeared on Abaddon's face.
"He... He..."
"Heinz!"
Abaddon roared.
His roar was filled with fear.
——————
Horus be with me!
The Emperor be with me!
Dammit... whoever be with me!
That's Heinz!
That's fucking Heinz!
Heinz of the Eleventh Legion! They had fought side by side!
Emperor above!
What the hell is that!
That's a monster, a monster Abaddon had fought and killed before. This massive individual seemed no different from those lying on the ground, except...
On its blasphemous and twisted body, on the Randan arms, the Xenos legs, the beast's tail, and the neck of a monster cobbled together from various shadowy creatures of the galaxy...
Was an Astartes head.
Abaddon gaped.
Even ten thousand years later, he would never forget this.
Emperor...
Horus...
These monsters, these... things...
They... or rather, a part of them... were Astartes!
As cold sweat dripped onto the twisted flesh at Abaddon's feet, [Heinz] launched its attack, an almost unstoppable slaughter. It was stronger, more terrifying than even the mightiest Justaerin.
It kicked Abaddon away. It slammed Hektor to the ground with one palm. This monster, perhaps seven or eight meters tall, when it casually swung its claws, it grabbed a Justaerin Terminator, lifted it high, and then easily tore apart the Terminator armor, peeling off the Luna Wolf's flesh piece by piece.
Like dismantling a paper doll.
Abaddon watched it all.
Everything he would never forget.
Everything he would never speak of.
Everything he would always support... eradicating.
Then.
He heard a sigh.
It was the sigh of the Lord of the Second Legion.
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