Chapter 241: The Age of the Primarchs Is Over!!

The roar of wind and cannons was so deafening it made Lord Kryd's ears buzz and throb.

Not just the wind and cannons—the entire world is roaring.

Mountains shattered, oceans evaporated into ash, and the very structure of the continent screamed its death throes.

The Eye of Terror shone brighter than ever, a crimson gash across the heavens, as if ready to swallow all of Cadia whole.

The profane energies of the Warp ravaged this world; mocking laughter echoed from the dark, and the long vigil had finally collapsed.

Illusions of the Warp manifested upon Cadia's ruins; demons tore through the veil of reality and rampaged across the land.

Mortals who realized Cadia was lost began to retreat, while Abaddon's Black Legion and the demons gave chase without mercy.

Hell-drakes in the sky spat venomous fire; colossal Chaos Daemons of Tzeentch raised two avian heads above the horizon, and eerie psychic lightning rained from the clouds.

Every troop transport and troop ship in retreat became prey for the demons.

Lord Kryd and his Eighth Regiment chose to defend Cadia one final time, their flesh and blood the last human bulwark.

After the order was given, other commanders still stood with Lord Kryd, willing to die alongside Cadia.

The 184th Regiment, skilled in defense under General Drostron, partially joined the fight—mostly seasoned Cadia-born soldiers.

Scorching crimson lasers shot in all directions across the line; reanimated corpses roared toward the last remaining warriors of the Eighth and 184th Regiments; Chaos Beasts rode flying discs across the sky, raining profane magic; followers of Slaanesh shrieked with lewd, piercing laughter.

But the people of Cadia held their final bastion—a storm surged from the earth, roaring before the line, swallowing every demon that dared approach.

The storm slowed the advance of Chaos, granting the people of Cadia a fleeting moment of respite.

"Cadia stands firm!!!"

Lord Kryd roared, swinging his mangled arm.

They had once shouldered laser rifles, forging a bulwark against the crimson abyss of the gods with mortal flesh, becoming humanity's frontline against Chaos.

Now, they still stood here.

"Proclaim to the Eye of Terror! They may take Cadia and the bodies of its people, but they cannot take our future!"

"Cadia will not fall; our warriors still live—they will go to every front among the stars, to every place where the Master of Mankind needs them."

"There, Cadia will remain a bulwark before the enemies of humanity. Stars may fall, but Cadia will stand forever."

Lord Kryd's blood flowed ceaselessly; he would soon die from blood loss.

Yet even the last medics had picked up weapons and taken their place on the line, and Kryd no longer felt he needed healing.

"Yes."

Another commander, General Drostron, who led the 184th Regiment, agreed with Lord Kryd:

"And when the surviving Cadia-born die, Cadia will still not fall."

"Other warriors will pick up our laser rifles, stand firm behind the line, and become new bulwarks—they will inherit the name of Cadia."

"Let the enemies of humanity fear! They have shattered our stars, but Cadia will become an undying wraith, looming before them forever."

Lord Kryd saw, in the distance, the last transport ship lurching painfully into the sky.

Everyone except the Cadia-born of the Eighth and 184th Regiments had already retreated.

Cadia had become a graveyard, yet Lord Kryd could not help laughing—laughing at his final, small victory.

He and General Drostron exchanged glances and smiled, leaning against the ruins of the line.

"That girl you chose… Leina, right? Can she and those Asfordians carry the name of Cadia?"

Lord Kryd asked.

He knew that before coming to Cadia, General Drostron's 184th Regiment had suffered terrible losses on the planet Hades.

But they had absorbed the native Asfordians and formed a new force—composed of both Asfordians and Cadia-born—arriving to reinforce Cadia.

The leader of those Asfordians was Leina, a psyker girl—one of the few who did not go mad or die when the Eye of Terror opened; instead, her psychic power had grown significantly.

She had roared and summoned a storm behind the retreating convoy, becoming the final barrier for all.

Lord Kryd estimated she had reached Alpha-level psyker status, perhaps even surpassed it.

She led the Asfordian Cadia 184th Regiment into retreat.

"They can. What matters is not bloodline."

General Drostron's wounded body trembled slightly as he pulled a finely carved flask from his pocket, took a swig of Amasek, and said:

"What matters is a soul like a bastion, fury against the enemies of humanity. Those Asfordians understand this—they can inherit the name of Cadia."

Lord Kryd gave a slight nod.

Over eight hundred million Cadia-born had perished; at most a few million had escaped the planet—pathetically few.

Cadia's bloodline would surely fade among the stars, but Lord Kryd sincerely hoped the name of Cadia would not.

General Drostron handed the flask to Lord Kryd; the lord took a sip, grimaced at the burn of alcohol.

"The medics' surgical alcohol tastes better than this crap. What kind of taste do you have?!" Lord Kryd hurled the flask back at Drostron.

"Unappreciative fool," General Drostron grumbled, taking another sip.

Lord Kryd suddenly heard the whistle of a rocket— one of the Eighth Regiment's warriors fired a searing missile.

The shell exploded in the chest of a demon, tearing its proud torso into bloody ruin.

That was the last rocket the Eighth Regiment had.

Yet the warriors of Cadia still raised their arms, shouting: "Cadia stands firm!"

Cadia stands firm. Lord Kryd didn't know if he shouted it aloud, but in his heart, he had screamed it ten thousand times.

Suddenly, he saw a storm rise from the line—a low, cold, mechanical laugh emerged from within it.

Lord Kryd raised his rifle and fired wildly at the storm.

But the storm swallowed his hasty shot.

"How magnificent."

"A perfect exhibit—worthy to be the crown jewel of my museum."

A silver figure appeared before the Cadia-born; it raised its arm, green light flickered, and a strange polyhedron pulsed in the void.

"This will not be your end."

"Eternity awaits you—you shall become the monument of your own race."

Moments later, Lord Kryd felt himself swallowed by darkness.

Of course it was not the end.

Lord Kryd thought drowsily.

Because Cadia stands firm.

"Cadia stands firm."

Before losing consciousness, Lord Kryd roared one final time.

The liquor was so sweet.

On the flagship Revenant Soul, Ezekiel Abaddon raised his cup.

The cup was made from a skull—crafted by Fabius Bael, a crude replica of his father Horus's head.

Ezekiel Abaddon drank deeply, watching Cadia's fall beyond the viewport.

A thousand cracks marred Cadia; this once nearly impregnable bastion world was now insignificant along the crimson path of the Eye of Terror—it would either perish or be remade by Chaos into a perfect daemon world.

Some fools loyal to the False Emperor had escaped; Abaddon watched the fleeing remnants led by the Ark of the Imperial Fists.

He made no move to pursue.

One reason: the Ark, the massive flagship of the Imperial Fists, still possessed power enough to make Abaddon's fleet hesitate.

Looking at the colossal vessel, Abaddon instinctively recalled Rogal Dorn's crushing fist.

Another reason: Abaddon did not care for these broken remnants.

The ten-thousand-year war was over; the crimson path was laid. Now, could he follow it to Terra once more?

Suddenly, almost unconsciously, Abaddon heard a roar and echo within the Warp.

Like a million minds thinking as one, the resonance and roar surged through the Warp.

"Cadia stands firm!!!"

The Warp echo flashed through Abaddon's mind.

Abaddon waved his hand in disgust—he no longer cared about Cadia; the Cadia-born could no longer affect him.

The Black Legion's next target would be the entire galaxy.

Let the galaxy burn!

Abaddon thought with delight.

But then the sound of a hatch opening shattered his joy.

He turned, displeased, toward the hatch.

There entered Zalaphiston, the Thousand Sons sorcerer blessed by Tzeentch, who served Abaddon, bringing him reliable prophecies and divinations.

"My Lord Abaddon, why do we not pursue?" Zalaphiston asked, his three eyes fixed on Abaddon.

Abaddon's brow twitched slightly.

He disliked Zalaphiston's tone—it bordered on defiance, far too bold for a man who usually fawned over Abaddon.

"Let the fleet's trash feast on them. The loyalists are but broken dogs—not worth chasing," Abaddon growled.

Normally, this would have ended it. But Zalaphiston's lips curled into a smile.

"Yet one vessel still carries a precious relic."

Abaddon stared at Zalaphiston, scoffing: "The Ark holds nothing worth caring about. You want Rogal Dorn's hand-bone?"

"No, my lord," Zalaphiston bowed slightly, his third eye glowing with profane Warp energy. "I speak not of the Ark, but of the Mechanicus arkship."

"On it is a sacred relic—it can revive an ancient being nearly dead, a figure of legend."

"Who?" A thread of unease stirred in Abaddon's heart.

Zalafiston whispered, uttering the name he had seen surging through the warp's tide,

the name Abaddon had nearly forgotten—the true Lord of Ultramar's name.

It was nearly impossible—

Abaddon was on the verge of unleashing his fury,

but before he could express it, Zalafiston's smile vanished on its own,

the light of the warp flickered ceaselessly in his third eye; he seemed to have seen something else.

"There is another."

Zalafiston spoke with vacant eyes, as if stunned by what he had seen.

"What?" Abaddon demanded, suppressing his rage.

"Horus," Zalafiston said almost instinctively: "Horus is also returning—"

"Damn you!!!!"

Abaddon roared, crushing the goblet forged from his father's replica skull,

the Great Devourer lunged forward like a hurricane, his massive Hand of Horus seizing Zalafiston's head in an instant,

before the Thousand Sons sorcerer could cry out, his skull shattered in Abaddon's grip.

"It's long over! They are merely relics of history!"

Consumed by rage, Abaddon pounded Zalafiston's corpse with fist after fist, roaring in fury:

"The age of the Primarchs is long gone!!!!!!"

(End of Chapter)