Chapter 373: The Chaos God Khorne, Imperial Chancellor, and the Unpaid Abaddon (Combined)

"Gak gak."

Khorne emitted a sharp, birdlike cry, frantically extending his power into every corner of his domain.

The shattered regions within the Crystal Labyrinth began repairing themselves, and demons from other realms were slowly driven out.

But many areas remained corrupted and defiled by Khorne, Nurgle, and Slaanesh, fully become their domains; Khorne could not directly interfere with those regions—he must win them back through a new Great Game, though he might never win them back at all.

Yet at least those still held hope; what troubled Khorne most were the regions seized by the Emperor.

The Lord of Mankind had burned those regions with searing, blazing flames, reducing all to ash, leaving only pure destruction.

Those domains had been utterly annihilated, like demons erased by the Emperor's fire—neither Khorne nor any other god could ever reclaim them.

Khorne roughly calculated: he had lost nearly one-fifth of his domains.

The domains of mutation, distortion, and numbers had been mostly seized by Nurgle; the desires for power and self-transcendence had been stolen by Slaanesh; the strategies of war had been plundered by Khorne.

Khorne's power had been drastically weakened.

Generally, in the current galaxy teeming with war, Khorne was the strongest of the four gods, followed by Khorne, then Nurgle, and finally Slaanesh.

But if a massive rebellion, change, or transformation erupted across the galaxy, Khorne would rise to first place.

If a great plague, stagnation, or decline swept the galaxy, Nurgle would ascend as the strongest.

If indulgence, craving, and art flourished across the galaxy, Slaanesh's power would surge dramatically.

But now, with this shift in balance, Khorne felt his strength had nearly dwindled below Nurgle's—yet still remained stronger than Slaanesh's.

This meant he would have to focus much of his attention for a long time on the Warp, on the Great Game, striving to reclaim his lost domains.

His attention to the material universe would have to diminish greatly—even though the material universe was now at a critical moment.

"Damn it! Blue Lynx Cat!"

Khorne's face twisted in rage, one hand holding a dumbbell, his voice hoarse with fury.

He was merely a secondary god who had not yet truly ascended, still half a pawn—and yet he had been manipulated to this extent.

The only good news was that he had seized, in the chaos, portions of domains related to muscle gain, fitness, and exercise from Khorne and Slaanesh.

These domains, at their core, were about self-enhancement, dissatisfaction with the stagnation of the flesh, and the pursuit of bodily transformation.

By consuming these regions, Khorne claimed them, barely compensating for his losses.

But this had drastically altered Khorne himself and his domain, filling him with intense discomfort.

He would need much more time to digest those domains.

"You wait, you blue lynx cat."

As he began Bulgarian split squats, Khorne gnashed his teeth in hatred.

But now he had to monitor the Great Game while also struggling to digest the domains of muscle, fitness, and exercise—he simply had no spare hand to act against the blue lynx cat trapped in the material universe's body.

Nor could Khorne use Magnus or the Thousand Sons to confront Zhou Yun.

Magnus was leading his low-body-fat sons on a steroid planet, beginning their fitness regimen; Khorne could not force Magnus to abandon fitness, to pursue muscular transformation, and act as his proxy in the material universe.

Just as Slaanesh could not make Fulgrim abandon indulgence, nor Khorne make Angron abandon rage.

Thus, traces of fate began to appear before Khorne's eyes.

Even if he could not act directly, Khorne could still subtly steer the flow of fate, selecting the right pawns to oppose the blue lynx cat.

As he began dumbbell bench presses, he searched fate for the perfect pieces.

He quickly found three old pawns he could exploit—all once blessed by the four gods, perfectly suited to confront the blue lynx cat.

"Gak gak gak! All is within my plan!"

In the portion of the Warp where Slaanesh and Nurgle's domains intertwined,

Purple and gold entwined, obscene mist of desire drifted endlessly; Slaanesh's demons boasted of the new sexually transmitted diseases they had just infected.

Green and brown blended, stagnant venom of revenge clogged and choked; Nurgle's demons stirred cauldrons, cultivating brand-new sexually transmitted diseases.

This domain was precisely that of sexually transmitted diseases; the Benevolent Father generously ceded portions of it to compensate Slaanesh for his losses in muscle, fitness, and physique.

Their wills interwove here, constantly exchanging, conversing.

Slaanesh's will extended from his bedchamber; he lay gracefully upon his couch, writhing his obscene yet pure body, savoring the new sensations brought by the new domain.

He had gained considerable territory—second only to Nurgle, who had released the Primarchs—and his mood was naturally excellent.

Yet Slaanesh felt a slight confusion.

"Benevolent Father, why did you let me cede portions of the domains of muscle, fitness, and gain to Khorne?"

"Though these domains do not suit him well, causing him pain and difficulty digesting them, he still gains from them."

Slaanesh licked his lips, asking the Plague God in a soft tone.

But Nurgle, stirring his thick stew, merely chuckled.

"All is guided by numerology."

The Plague God, who obediently followed numerology's guidance, and had reaped the greatest harvest, spoke thus.

Over the past dozen days, Viceroy Tiruien had endured immense suffering.

This suffering was spiritual, constantly interrogating his soul.

In his long years past, Tiruien had always believed the Twelve High Lords, though each bore mental illness, were still among the Empire's finest.

Now Tiruien wondered: perhaps their mental illness was precisely what made them excellent High Lords.

How could they remain so unmoved, so cold and heartless, in the face of such things?

The Inquisition had issued the "Els Decree"; all regular armed forces on Terra were recalled to the Imperial Palace and stationed along the Eternal Wall, while vast districts were entirely abandoned, leaving only a minimal security force from the Fawu Force.

What this meant, both Els and Tiruien understood.

Tiruien felt dizzy; he still remembered the regional governors who had roared at him, fighting bloodily against the Blood God's faithful surging from Terra's hive depths.

Some understood the "Els Decree," others cursed it as murder, still others accused the High Lords of caring only for their own safety, branding Tiruien a coward hiding behind the lines.

Whether in understanding or in curses, Tiruien suffered terribly, his heart feeling torn apart.

But he knew he must do this: the Grey Knights, the Astropathic Choir, and the Inquisition had all delivered the same prophecy.

Demons were about to descend upon Terra; the Throne was in peril; they must retreat their lines to the Eternal Wall.

Thus, Tiruien signed the "Els Decree" without hesitation.

Another matter causing Tiruien pain—and hesitation—was the return of the Primarchs.

The Supreme Abbess of the Adepta Sororitas, Mo Wen, delivered this news to Tiruien.

She claimed that the demonic god Saint Doraemon had resurrected Primarchs Sanguinius and Roboute Guilliman, who were soon to arrive at the Moon.

And the corrupting power of the Lord of Change was pursuing them; Terra must send reinforcements to the Moon.

This was difficult, for the forces required included the Imperial Guard, the Silent Sisters, the Adepta Sororitas, and naval vessels.

The Imperial Guard, even, were bound by the "Restriction Decree," forbidden to leave Terra.

Unless all Twelve High Lords agreed, this could never be accomplished legally under Imperial law.

Only the Inquisitor Els, the Imperial Guard Commander Trajan, and the Astropathic Choir representative Kellaprin supported this.

Who could secretly move these Watchers of the Throne off Terra? Who could deceive the other High Lords? Who could control the Eternal Gate Spaceport and enough ships? Who possessed such resources and political power?

Naturally, the greedy, corrupt, and cunning old Tiruien.

Tiruien feared corruption might be involved; though the chance of the Adepta Sororitas being corrupted was minuscule, he was unfamiliar with Lady Mo Wen.

Yet he knew the loyalty of Els and Kellaprin, and could not imagine Trajan, as Commander of the Imperial Guard, betraying the Emperor.

After hesitation, he still agreed to assist.

Using wealth amassed through corruption, Tiruien swiftly bribed numerous officials, quietly transporting the Imperial Guard, Adepta Sororitas, and Silent Sisters to the Moon.

He prayed only that the Emperor would protect their souls—and his own.

Tiruien lay hidden in his small chamber, accompanied only by his assistant Jie Ji, hoping to avoid the growing madness sweeping Terra.

Light—

Light tore through Terra's clouds; for the first time in his nearly two-hundred-year life, Tiruien saw the boundless stars above Terra.

He saw the low-orbit defense platforms, the massive void shipyards, the flagship of the Space Wolves, Mount Zhen.

And he saw the pale, enormous, grotesque Moon.

Normally, Terra's sky was choked by thick clouds; Tiruien had never seen the Moon from Terra.

Now, as if a pair of powerful, muscular arms had reached from the Moon, shattering—

"Throne above, Emperor protect—" Jie Ji stood beside Tiruien, gazing with him through the small window at the Moon.

"No!" Tiruien suddenly felt a dread; he yanked Jie Ji back, realizing something.

Lady Mo Wen was right: battle was indeed raging on the Moon; profane forces were corrupting Earth's satellite.

Crimson, demonic light flickered and shifted across the Moon's surface, ugly and thick with corruption.

But then, blue-gold order-light clashed with the crimson, holding its ground.

Fear rose in Tiruien's heart, yet a false hope stirred alongside it.

Hope.

Soon, Tiruien received more information from the Moon.

The Moon's Gellar readings were severely off the charts; several powerful psychic entities were colliding; the Earth-terraforming engine in the lunar core had activated inexplicably; the Imperial Guard were mobilizing.

And an order from Lu Xiusi, Chief of the Neizheng Force: he clearly suspected Tiruien had facilitated the movement of the Imperial Guard, Adepta Sororitas, and Silent Sisters.

In his communication, he cursed Tiruien's unauthorized action as treason; he demanded immediate deployment of the Imperial Guard to the Moon, and a full lockdown of the Imperial Palace, forbidding any ship from the Moon to land.

Tiruien could not discern what Lu Xiusi truly intended; his order contradicted those of other High Lords. Panic, chaos, and fanaticism now erupted within the Palace; everything was in turmoil.

"I am going to the Moon," Tiruien said heavily, leaning back in his chair to Jie Ji.

Jie Ji seemed amused; her expression asked: what could this old, fat man possibly do?

"I can open or close Terra's gates. I can constrain the Imperial Guard to stand on the right side. If miracles truly exist, I can help those two swiftly grasp Terra's political situation, seize supreme power, and guide them to the Throne Chamber."

Tiruien's voice grew fainter, as if he himself had lost all conviction.

He could indeed do all these things—but how could those two not?

The talents of the Children of the Gods far surpassed this old, fat man.

"I must go. I'm done. I watch everyone head to the battlefield while I hide alone in a safehouse, trembling."

"At least let me do something."

"You might die," Ji said, staring at Tiruien with a warning tone.

"Ha, then I've lived long enough," Tiruien suddenly flared up, shouting: "I can't just send others to die on the battlefield while I sit safe!"

Ji watched Tiruien for a moment, then burst into a slightly mad laugh.

Perhaps it wasn't just Ji—Tiruien himself carried a touch of madness; both their spirits were at their breaking point.

"Then go. We'll go together."

So Tiruien and Ji boarded the Void Vessel bound for the Moon. Along the way, they were indeed intercepted—perhaps because the Interior Force's Chief, Ilto, had begun enforcing his blockade, or perhaps because other High Lords had begun responding.

Many Void fighters attempted to halt Tiruien.

But as Imperial Chancellor, Tiruien was always adept at efficiently resolving problems—he chose to speak with the fighter pilots.

He spoke with them about how quickly, as Imperial Chancellor, he could have a kill-team pinpoint their families.

Thus, Tiruien soon reached the Moon's surface.

But he arrived too late.

The Martian Mechanicum had already arrived on the Moon; the massive, heavily modified Sages were walking across its surface.

And the Imperial Fists—the warriors in orange-gold power armor—were constructing fortifications around the crater rims, seemingly to protect the alien archway at the crater's base.

Tiruien also saw the Living Saint Celestine—her figure nearly identical to those in Imperial murals, holy and beautiful—while Lady Mo Wen devoutly conversed with her.

But Tiruien did not stop. He stumbled forward with a single-minded fixation until he saw those two radiant figures.

Tiruien could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

He felt as if he were gazing upon a storm of blue-gold order and a sorrowful, glorious sacrifice.

Nearly half a minute passed before Tiruien truly recognized the two faces he had been required to memorize since childhood.

"Imperial Senate Chancellor," the rational being clad in blue-gold power armor was the first to notice Tiruien.

He saw the rank insignia on Tiruien's garments and spoke them aloud in High Gothic.

The golden, angelic figure also noticed Tiruien and nodded gently in greeting.

For a moment, Tiruien's madness and pain were suppressed; the profane whispers from the Warp nearly vanished—except for that song praising Doraemon.

But Tiruien saw no Doraemon here, no trace of corruption. He exhaled sharply in relief.

"Lord Guilliman. Lord Sanguinius."

Tiruien knelt on both knees, bowing devoutly, tears streaming down his face:

"You've truly returned—pure, untainted."

"Not corrupted by that demonic god Doraemon, as they claimed—"

At Tiruien's words, Guilliman's hand, half-raised to help him up, froze in place.

Sanguinius's face flickered with discomfort.

Then Zhou Yun, who had been speaking with the Imperial Guard Shield Captain Valerian, poked his head out, curious: "Who's looking for me?"

Tiruien instinctively turned to Zhou Yun. He noticed the pocket on Zhou Yun's belly—rumors from the Star-Tongue communications had told him of that pocket.

And faintly, Tiruien saw within that seemingly mortal body, crammed inside, a vast, majestic blue cat.

From the cat's round paws extended two threads, connecting to the two Primarchs.

"Ghk—" Tiruien choked, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed motionless onto the lunar regolith.

"Alchemist!!!"

"Get an alchemist! Or any psychic except Leina!"

"The Imperial Chancellor has collapsed again!"

"Abaddon."

A cold voice, tinged with faint fury, echoed through the dark bridge.

Abaddon's eyes rolled back; he nearly fainted.

His ancient veteran Gastrian Terminators had been cut down—again.

A blood-drenched axe spun with a hum, fused with a demon, grotesque and terrifying.

Even the heavy armor of the Gastrian Terminators shattered like paper beneath the chainsword once wielded by a Primarch.

"Karn! How dare you attack the Warmaster—" Fabus Keb, Abaddon's bodyguard commander and leader of the Despair Messengers, roared.

He raised his bolter.

But before he could fire, his head flew into the air amid the chainsword's roar.

"Abaddon," Karn's voice was low and powerful, like drumbeats striking Abaddon's heart.

Had Abaddon not been wounded, had he still been at his peak, he could have faced Karn unafraid with his demon-blade Daelnicon.

But now—he could fight at full strength for only minutes. He could handle his Chaos Lords, perhaps, but Karn?

Even young Sigismund would not have claimed he could defeat Karn in minutes.

"What do you want, Karn!" Abaddon shouted in terror.

"Revenge. Eye for eye. Blood for blood."

Karn rasped slowly to Abaddon:

"I intended to invite you. But you're too cowardly."

"Now, pay me for the battle I fought for you."

"Can't you think of the greater good?!" Abaddon roared. "For mere hatred, you betrayed the Blood God—and now you betray my cause?"

After the war in the Warp ended, Karn sought out Abaddon, demanding payment.

Abaddon naturally refused to pay for a failed war—and even less to let Karn, such a valuable asset, go free.

So Karn, the butcher of action, expressed his protest against unpaid wages with slaughter.

"Is this why you let Erebus kill Loken?"

Gavriel Loken, Tenth Company Captain of the Shadow Wolves, Abaddon's sworn brother.

Long before the Heresy, Karn, Anger Tae, Sigismund, and Loken had forged friendship in the arena.

They were friends—brothers bound by different blood—though Sigismund and Loken chose loyalty.

Sigismund died by Abaddon's hand. Karn bore no hatred, for it was a battle of honor, a fair contest. Sigismund lost, but died with glory.

But Loken was murdered by Erebus's ambush. Karn hated it. A man like Loken should not die so. Not by a worm like Erebus.

Worse still—Abaddon had watched Loken's death with his own eyes—and done nothing.

"I was furious!" Abaddon immediately retorted.

But such a feeble reply only made Karn laugh. Abaddon had been furious—for a moment—and done nothing.

"That's not fury," Karn said. "That's cowardice. If you were furious, you would've killed Erebus on the spot."

"Loken was an enemy!" Abaddon gritted his teeth.

"He was your brother," Karn shook his head. "Use your blade to argue—and then grant him a warrior's death. That's what you should've done."

"You shouldn't have let a beast like Erebus steal Loken's life and honor—especially with a treacherous ambush. You shamed Loken—no, you shamed Horus and all his sons."

"But it's not too late. Come with me. Kill Erebus. Together, let revenge cleanse Loken's death—and the dishonor visited upon Anger Tae."

"After revenge, if I still live, I will serve you—until I sever the head of a Primarch."

Abaddon's pupils trembled slightly. Karn's offer was undeniably tempting.

But Abaddon still shook his head. "I have more important things to do."

Karn fell silent. Fused with the demon, he could clearly sense the Warp's presence.

He faintly sensed that Abaddon's mind had just been manipulated. Was it the Many-Faced Lord?

"Then pay me," Karn's gaze toward Abaddon held a touch of pity.

Abaddon gritted his teeth. He looked around—he knew he could not refuse Karn now.

"What do you want?" Abaddon asked.

"I know you've allied with the Alphas."

Karn whispered:

"Tell me—have the Hydra's heads crept into Terra? Into the Imperial Palace? Coiled beside the bureaucrats?"

"Can your Alpha's descendants find a way to bring me into the Palace?"

(End of Chapter)