Chapter 653

“Son, how have you become like this?”

“Why are you repeating my mistakes?”

Horus’s voice suddenly sounded behind him,

Abaddon should not have been affected by this voice, nor drawn to it, for Guilliman had already used similar tricks before,

but now Abaddon was drowning in the boundless agony brought by the Hellbeast and the tearing of his soul by the eight demons, his will reduced to nothing but hatred, rage, arrogance, and a sliver of fear that haunted his midnight dreams.

If Horus were to return, Abaddon would feel no joy—only terror, and cry out: “Father, you’re not dead!”—then flee in panic.

Just like the joke Zhou Yun once told,

“One day, the Chaos Warlord Abaddon and the Imperial Cult’s Pope were boasting.”

“The Pope said: ‘The Emperor’s will is supreme; even dead warriors, if they carry loyalty to the Empire in their hearts, may be resurrected to fight for the Emperor.’”

“Abaddon said: ‘The False Emperor is vile, deceiving all beings. I shall ride the Crimson Path and ravage from the Eye of Terror to the farthest rim of the galaxy in an instant.’”

“The Pope didn’t believe him and demanded proof. Abaddon panicked and immediately summoned his sorcerers to confer.”

“At that moment, a sorcerer devoted to the Lord of Change spoke: ‘Warlord Abaddon, I have a plan. You can make the Pope call for the Emperor to resurrect Horus. Once Warlord Horus is resurrected, you won’t need the Crimson Path—you’ll flee to the galaxy’s rim in an instant.’”

Although Abaddon often proclaimed himself the heir to Horus’s legacy, claiming he would avenge his father upon the False Emperor,

Abaddon knew that if Horus were to one day return and witness all Abaddon had done over these ten thousand years, he would only rage, only grieve, and crush Abaddon into pulp, inch by inch, with his ringed fist.

In the silence of midnight, when Abaddon closed his eyes, he often saw Horus’s dying face, those eyes filled with endless sorrow fixed upon him,

that face so real it felt as though Horus’s shattered soul clung to Abaddon’s body; even in death, Horus remained terrifyingly powerful, filling Abaddon with dread—when he opened his eyes, he often found himself drenched in sweat, the power armor’s internal moisture recycler activating automatically.

Especially after being sealed inside the Hellbeast, he constantly saw Horus’s face, the former Shadow Wolves, the oath-bound brothers of the Four Lords.

He could even hear Horus’s dreamy murmurs,

“You see, we all have our favorites.”

“Seylanus, he possesses a different kind of strength—he is my Guilliman. Not because he is disliked, but because he completes what we lack.”

“Asiman, little Horus, my most loyal son—he is my Lorgar, somewhat passive, yet genuinely loving and revering me.”

“Sedir, my company commander, my bodyguard—he is my Rogal Dorn. If anyone were to assassinate me, they would have to kill him first.”

“Togaton, easygoing and humorous yet reliable—he is my Ferrus. He may not be the finest of my sons, but he is always among the very best.”

“Loken? Of course, I must say—he doesn’t resemble me, but he is my favorite son. When others ask, I deny it outright, for I cannot show too much favoritism.”

“But I can quietly tell you—Loken is my Sanguinius.”

“Izekiel? Oh, I don’t know how to say it—Abaddon is my First Captain, my son who is the strongest, most steadfast, and most like me.”

“Whether you believe it or not, his achievements will far surpass mine—he is my firstborn, my Luperkar. But I always worry about him, that he might make the same mistakes I did.”

During Horus’s lifetime, Abaddon had never heard him speak such words—but yet, it felt exactly like something Horus would say.

Guilt, sorrow, love for his father, fear of Horus—all these emotions intertwined in Abaddon’s heart, and even the boundless agony of the Hellbeast could not erase them; these emotions drove Abaddon to turn his head.

Bald head!

A blue bald head glowed behind Abaddon,

a palm-sized blue cat-like creature floated beside him, resembling a miniature Doraemon,

this miniature Doraemon had eaten a voiceprint candy and now spoke in Horus’s voice—even Abaddon could not detect the difference.

This sight delivered a crushing blow to Abaddon’s already fragile mind; his emotions, already at their peak, collapsed entirely—like eating a crab stick for years only to discover it contained no crab at all, just… something else—strange, unbearable.

Abaddon’s mind, already squeezed to its limit by pain, became even more deranged,

“You ate my father!”

“Father! Don’t be afraid! I’ll dig you out of his throat right now!”

Abaddon’s voice rose sharply, he stepped forward, the ground trembled, and he lunged at the tiny Doraemon hovering in midair,

but the Doraemon remained calm, its form shifting instantly into eight copies blocking Abaddon’s path,

eight chanting voices sounded simultaneously, in languages Abaddon could not understand, as if reciting eight different names.

In an instant, the eight demons on Abaddon’s body shrieked in agony—the eight Doraemons were chanting their true names, suppressing their existence, tearing at their bodies.

Abaddon staggered backward as if struck by lightning, a violent pulling force dragging at his body—the eight demons seemed to scream, desperate to flee from him.

But at that moment, Fulgrim leapt up, wielding the Warhammer of the Broken Hearth, and swung it with full force against Abaddon’s body,

the warhammer forged by Fulgrim, modified by Ferrus, and enhanced for ten thousand years by Perturabo unleashed boundless power in the hands of this clone Primarch, crushing Abaddon’s massive frame and slamming him to the ground, pinning him beneath its weight.

Akurduina seized the opportunity, thrusting his Phase Court Sword into the Hellbeast’s body and severing the power-conducting steel tubes, leaving Abaddon immobilized on the spot.

Fulgrim did not attempt to deliver the final blow—he had tried too many methods before and failed to kill Abaddon every time.

Abaddon was blessed by the Four Gods and now possessed by eight Great Daemons; if the Hellbeast were utterly destroyed, who knew what kind of Chaos Egg might emerge.

Better to disable its power system and leave him temporarily incapacitated—that was safer.

“My lord.” Fulgrim looked toward the miniature Doraemon floating before him,

he knew these small creatures were extensions of Zhou Yun’s power, naturally emerging from the kinetic and spiritual radiance Zhou Yun emitted, akin to Nurgle’s Nurgle Spirits—simplest demons, yet closest to Zhou Yun.

Their appearance on Long Linxing meant Zhou Yun’s power had begun seeping into this region, having consumed at least half of the Soul Furnace.

“What a beautiful form—this round bald head, this tiny body, these round hands, this metallic sheen—perfect creation, exactly matching my aesthetic!” Before Fulgrim could speak, Akurduina blurted out involuntarily.