Chapter 673: Saint Doraemon

This situation caught the Primogenitor off guard for a moment, leaving him momentarily stunned and unable to comprehend what had happened.

Abaddon’s resistance to psychic illusions completely exceeded the Primogenitor’s expectations.

The psychic illusions he wove inflicted no harm on Abaddon, instead exposing his own opening.

Abaddon’s combat instinct seized the opening—he raised his other power arm high.

“ABA!!!!!! DON!!!!!!”

Abaddon’s mechanical arm struck like a skyborne drop pod, slamming hard against the Primogenitor’s arms; the Primogenitor could not resist, and a low groan echoed from within his limbs.

Had Kaul not drawn inspiration and technology from the Thief DX suit to create this new model of power armor, Abaddon’s punch would have shattered the Primogenitor’s arms.

He growled, his psychic energy surging—the veil of reality tore briefly, and a beam of pure warp energy pierced into reality, hurtling toward Abaddon.

The psychic force was so immense it forced Abaddon back several steps in an instant.

The Primogenitor seized the chance to create distance from Abaddon; channeling such immense psychic energy caused his muscles to spasm, awakening genetic flaws, and overwhelming pain nearly drowned him.

“DON! DONN! DONN! DONN! DONN! DONN!!!!” Abaddon unleashed a rapid-fire battle cry, and golden-hued blessed bullets erupted from the Horus Claws on his arms, raining down like a dense storm upon the Primogenitor.

The Primogenitor’s lips moved slightly within his helmet—a pill slipped into his mouth: the Doraemon Daoju High-Efficiency Pill, one of the common Doraemon devices used by humans today.

Simultaneously, hidden gas tanks within his power armor began pumping gas through hoses detached from Doraemon devices, injecting it directly into the Primogenitor’s navel.

This gas and hose came from a device called the “Navel Gas Inflator,” which generates a substance called Navel Gas, channeling it through its built-in hose into the user’s navel, causing total loss of pain and overwhelming pure happiness—one dose lasts thirty minutes.

Kaul had extracted one dose and stored it in the Primogenitor’s power armor, then routed it into his body via the detached hose, ensuring the Primogenitor would remain unaffected by his genetic flaws for thirty minutes.

But this device was not without side effects: after its effect ended, physical and mental agony would rebound, and addiction was highly likely. Honestly, when the Primogenitor first used this device, he believed Slaanesh should crawl down from the Sixth Circle of Slaanesh and bow six times to Saint Doraemon, surrendering the domain of addictive substances to Saint Doraemon.

Intense joy and overwhelming happiness erupted within the Primogenitor—not hollow neural stimulation from drugs, but a compound bliss vibrating from soul to flesh; the constant pain within him vanished swiftly under the Navel Gas, leaving his body light and powerful.

Saint Doraemon’s goods are too pure!!!

The Primogenitor took a gentle breath, feeling the superhuman organs grown naturally within him activate, sensing his genes at work.

His body contained twenty-one superior Primarch gene-sequences—the fused essence of all Astartes Legions.

Freed from the agonizing grip of his genetic flaws, he could now wield that power.

Ice wolves’ ferocity flashed in his eyes; the heat of deep magma and the frost of blizzards exploded simultaneously within his psychic field.

Raw, unrefined, primal warp currents born of awe, rage, fear, and imagination for nature’s might surged from his fingertips, forming snowstorm-like runes that swept toward Abaddon.

The bullets aimed at the Primogenitor froze midair, as if a blizzard from a distant wasteland had engulfed Abaddon’s massive frame—frost instantly covered most of his body.

The Primogenitor’s genetic power surged again—another form of psychic energy erupted from him: psychic energy born of superstition, arrogance, and the urge to simplify the world.

He took seven rhythmic steps forward; warp Xieneng materialized out of thin air, becoming an invisible curse that seeped into Abaddon’s colossal hell-beast body, instantly draining much of his aura.

Then came the third psychic force: the energy of wisdom, knowledge, longing, and curiosity for truth.

Complex incantations poured from the Primogenitor’s mouth; a beam as hot as a star erupted from his fingertip, then compressed, reshaped, and disintegrated, turning surrounding matter into dust that scattered.

The Primogenitor flicked his finger, directing the beam toward Abaddon.

In an instant, one-third of Abaddon’s coffin-plate armor was erased—the metal forged in the Vashthor Furnaces reduced to dust.

On the blade’s azure edge, ten thousand faces of murder victims screamed shrilly—the ice coating Abaddon shattered violently.

The Chaos Octagram embedded on Abaddon flickered; the corner representing the Penicillin Demon glowed briefly, expelling the curses covering Abaddon.

“DON!!!!!!!!!”

Frost scattered like shattered gems; the psychic light dissolved before the azure glow; wind and blizzard were cleaved apart by the descending blade.

Abaddon’s massive body moved with speed utterly incongruous with its size, appearing before the Primogenitor in an instant.

The black, twisted metal colossus stood silhouetted against the light, its form blurred by swirling wind and snow, terrifying beyond measure.

The murder-born demon blade, Delanicon, swept down, howling with ten thousand wails.

CLANG!!!!!!!!!

The famed blade, Denkōmaru, flared to life and forcibly blocked Abaddon’s strike.

Abaddon swiftly retracted his blade and unleashed three rapid consecutive strikes.

Denkōmaru’s power was exhausted by these ferocious blows, but the Primogenitor seized the opening to create distance from Abaddon.

The demon blade Delanicon was too dangerous and lethal; even though he still carried three more Denkōmaru blades, the Primogenitor refused to risk close combat with him.

“DON!!!!!! DON!!! DON!!!!!”

Abaddon roared three battle cries, raised his Horus Claws again, and aimed the bolt pistol hidden between the claw blades at the Primogenitor:

“Let Horus’s Big Stepdad BLOW YOU UP!!!!!!”

A storm of bolter fire erupted.

Fulgrim gripped the Warhammer Shatterfurnace tightly, watching this scene from afar.

He had not yet moved.

Since the battle began, Fulgrim had felt a subtle premonition—that a specific opponent was reserved for him on this battlefield.

That opponent was neither Aedron nor Abaddon.

So Fulgrim had held back, continuously refining his state, drawing ever closer to perfection.

On orbit, Fabius Bael in the ship also watched this scene.

He had indeed prepared an opponent for Fulgrim.

A teleportation flash erupted at the center of the battlefield, revealing a towering figure within the light.

The moment that figure appeared, the air itself froze.

Both the Phoenix Sons and the Emperor’s Sons froze in place.

Even the most arrogant, maddest Emperor’s Son dared not show a trace of arrogance before that figure.

A smooth, bald head reflected the lingering glow of the teleportation, casting light in all directions, illuminating every Astartes’s face.

The dead demigod stood once more upon the battlefield, radiant light shimmering over him, tracing every rune on his fine-crafted armor, and igniting the crimson eye gazing down upon the field from his chest.

The Wolf Cloak billowed fiercely; the Lord of War stood proud, his resolute face like a morning star.

Silence—he brought silence the instant he stepped onto the battlefield.

Until a veteran Emperor’s Son, survivor of the Great Betrayal a millennium ago, let out a startled cry:

“The Wolf God! By the Wolffather! He has returned!”