Chapter 242: The Era of the Primarch is Over!!

The howling of the gale and the thunder of the cannons were so deafening that Creed's ears rang with pain.

It was not only the roar of the gale and the cannons; the entire world was roaring.

Mountains crumbled and collapsed, oceans evaporated into ash, and the continental structures emitted deathbed wails.

The Eye of Terror shone far brighter than ever, like a scarlet blood mouth hanging across the sky, seemingly about to devour all of Cadia.

The profane powers of the Warp raged across this planet; mocking laughter echoed from the darkness, and the long vigil finally collapsed.

Illusions of the Warp manifested upon the ruins of Cadia; demons tore open the barriers of reality and rampaged across the land.

Mortals realizing Cadia had fallen began their retreat, while Abaddon's Black Legion and the demons pursued relentlessly.

Hell-drakes in the sky spat venomous fire; on the horizon, a massive Tzeentchian demon raised two bird heads, and eerie psychic lightning struck down from the clouds.

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

Lord Creed and his Eighth Regiment chose to defend Cadia one last time, becoming humanity's final line of defense with flesh and blood.

After the order was given, other commanders still willing to stand with Lord Creed remained; they were willing to share Cadia's fate.

The 184th Regiment, skilled in defense, joined the battle under the command of General Droste, primarily those seasoned Cadian-born soldiers.

Crimson, scorching lasers shot in all directions across the lines; resurrected corpses roared as they charged at the dwindling warriors of the Eighth and 184th Regiments; a Chaos Spawn rode a flying disc across the sky, raining down profane magic; and the frenzied followers of Slaanesh let out lewd, shrill laughter.

But the Cadians defended the last fortress; a storm rising from the ground roared and loomed before the lines, dragging all demons attempting to breach the lines into its vortex.

This storm slowed the Chaos advance, granting the Cadians an extremely brief moment to catch their breath.

"Cadia Stands!!!"

Lord Creed roared, waving his mangled arm.

They had once shouldered lasguns, forging a fortress with mortal shells before the gods' scarlet abyss, becoming humanity's foremost line of defense against Chaos.

Now, they still stood here.

"Declare to the Eye of Terror! They may take Cadia and the bodies of the Cadians, but they cannot take our future!"

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

"There, Cadia will still stand as a fortress before the enemies of mankind. Stars may fall, but Cadia will forever stand there."

Lord Creed's blood flowed unceasingly; he might die very soon from blood loss.

Yet the remaining medics had already shouldered weapons to defend the lines, and Creed no longer felt any need to be healed.

"Yes."

Another commander, General Droste who led the warriors of the 184th Regiment, agreed with Lord Creed's words:

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

"Other warriors will pick up our lasguns, stand behind the lines, and become the new fortress; they will inherit the name of Cadia."

"Let the enemies of mankind fear! They destroyed our stars, but Cadia will become an undying ghost lingering before them."

Lord Creed saw that in the distance, the last transport ship stumbled its way up into the sky.

Except for the Cadian-born of the Eighth and 184th Regiments, everyone else had already retreated.

Cadia had become a graveyard, yet Lord Creed could not help but laugh, laughing at his final, tiny victory.

He and General Droste smiled at each other, both leaning against the ruins of the lines.

"That girl you chose... her name is Xiang Xiang Leina, correct? Can she and those Asfordians bear the name of Cadia?"

Lord Creed asked.

He knew that before rushing to Cadia, General Droste's 184th Regiment had paid a terrible price in the Underworld Sector.

But they had absorbed the local Asfordians of the Underworld, reformed into a new force of Asfordians and Cadians fighting together, and rushed to Cadia for support.

The leader of those Asfordians was named Xiang Xiang Leina, a psychic girl; she was one of the few psychics who did not go mad or die when the Eye of Terror opened. Instead, that girl's psychic powers had even increased significantly.

She roared and howled, raising a storm behind the retreating convoy, becoming the final barrier for everyone.

Lord Creed estimated that the girl had likely reached the level of an Alpha-level psychic, perhaps even surpassing it.

That girl led the Asfordian-born Cadians of the 184th Regiment to evacuate.

"They can. What matters is not bloodline."

General Droste's injured body trembled slightly; he took a finely carved flask from his pocket, took a swig of Armageddon, and said:

"What matters is a fortress-like soul, the rage against the enemies of mankind... Those Asfordians understand this; they can inherit the name of Cadia."

Lord Creed nodded slightly.

Cadia, with over eight hundred million people, had fallen; at most only a few million could survive and leave this planet, a pitifully small number.

The bloodline of Cadia would ultimately be decided among the stars, but Creed sincerely hoped the name of Cadia would not fall.

General Droste handed the flask to Lord Creed; the Lord took it, drank a mouthful, and winced from the sting of the alcohol.

"Medic's medical alcohol tastes better than your broken junk! What kind of taste is that!" Lord Creed threw the flask back at General Droste.

"You don't know how to appreciate it," General Droste complained in return, taking another swig for himself.

Lord Creed suddenly heard the whistling of a rocket launcher; a warrior of the Eighth Regiment fired a scorching rocket.

The shell exploded in the chest of a demon, blasting its boastful chest into a bloody mess.

That was the last rocket of the Eighth Regiment.

Yet the warriors of Cadia still raised their arms and shouted that Cadia Stands.

Cadia Stands; Lord Creed did not know if he had shouted it aloud, but at least his heart had already shouted it ten thousand times.

Suddenly, he saw a storm rising from the lines; a low, cold, mechanical laughter suddenly emerged from the storm.

Lord Creed suddenly raised the gun in his hand, aimed at the storm, and pulled the trigger with force.

However, the storm swallowed Lord Creed's hasty shot.

"How magnificent."

"A perfect exhibit, worthy of being the finale of my museum."

A silver figure appeared before the eyes of the Cadians; it raised its arm high, green light flickering in response, as a strange polygon pulsed in the void.

"This will not be your end."

"Eternity awaits you; you shall become a monument to your own race."

Moments later, Lord Cadian felt himself swallowed by darkness.

It certainly would not be the end,

Lord Cadian thought drowsily,

for Cadia stands.

"Cadia stands."

Before losing consciousness, Lord Cadian roared one last time.

The wine was so sweet.

On the flagship of the Revenge of the Soul, Ezekiel Abaddon raised the goblet in his hand.

The goblet was crafted from a skull, made by Fabius Bile—the skull of his father, Horus's crude clone.

Ezekiel Abaddon drank deeply, admiring the fall of Cadia through the viewport.

A thousand cracks marred Cadia; this fortress world, once nearly impassable, now seemed so small upon the scarlet path unfolded by the Eye of Terror. It would ultimately fall, or be reborn by Chaos into a perfect Daemon World.

Some fools loyal to the False Emperor had escaped. Abaddon watched the routed army fleeing in panic under the lead of the Phalanx.

He was not in a hurry to pursue.

One reason was that the Phalanx, the massive flagship of the Imperial Fists, still possessed power that made Abaddon's fleet wary.

Gazing at that colossal vessel, Abaddon instinctively recalled Rogal Dorn's Fist.

Another reason was that Abaddon did not care for these broken remnants.

Ten thousand years of war had ended; the scarlet path had been paved. Could he follow this road and reach Terra once more?

Suddenly, almost unconsciously, Abaddon heard roars and echoes within the Warp.

It was as if, all at once, a million minds thought the same thing, creating echoes and roars within the Warp.

"Cadia stands!!!"

This Warp echo flashed through Abaddon's consciousness.

Abaddon waved his hand in disgust; he no longer cared about Cadia. The Cadians would have no effect on him.

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

Let the galaxy begin to burn!

Abaddon thought with joy.

However, just then, the sound of a hatch opening interrupted Abaddon's joy.

He looked toward the hatch with displeasure.

There stood Zharaphiston, the Thousand Sons Sorcerer blessed by Tzeentch, who had entered. He served Abaddon, bringing him reliable prophecies and divinations.

"My Lord Abaddon, why do we not pursue?" Zharaphiston gazed at Abaddon with his three eyes.

Abaddon's brow furrowed slightly.

He disliked Zharaphiston's tone; it was nearly a question. For Zharaphiston, who usually enjoyed flattering Abaddon, this was far too bold.

"Let the dregs of the fleet gnaw on them. The loyalists are merely beaten dogs, not worth pursuing," Abaddon said in a lowered voice.

Normally, it would have ended there, but the corners of Zharaphiston's mouth curled into a smile.

"But one ship still carries a precious relic."

Abaddon stared at Zharaphiston and sneered: "There is nothing on the Phalanx worth caring about. Do you want Rogal Dorn's hand bone?"

"No, my lord." Zharaphiston bowed slightly to Abaddon, his third eye flickering with Warp profanity: "I speak not of the Phalanx, but of that Xie Sect Ark."

"Upon it lies a holy artifact capable of returning an ancient existence, nearly dead, a legendary figure."

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

Zharaphiston spoke softly, uttering the name he had seen within the torrent of the Warp.

The name almost forgotten by Abaddon, the true name of the Lord of Octarius.

This is almost impossible—

Abaddon was about to vent his anger.

But before he could express his rage, the smile on Zharaphiston's lips vanished on its own.

His third eye flickered continuously with light from the Warp; he seemed to see something else.

"There is another."

Zharaphiston spoke with a vacant gaze, as if terrified by the news he had witnessed.

"What?" Abaddon asked, suppressing his anger.

"Horus," Zharaphiston said almost instinctively: "Horus is to be resurrected as well——————"

"Damn it!!!!"

Abaddon roared, and the goblet made from his father's clone's skull was crushed violently in his hand.

The Great Ravager lunged at Zharaphiston like a hurricane; the massive Horus's Claw instantly choked Zharaphiston's head.

Before the Thousand Sons Sorcerer could even scream, his head burst in Abaddon's grip.

"It ended long ago! They are merely relics of history!"

Consumed by rage, Abaddon punched the corpse of Zharaphiston again and again, roaring in fury:

"The era of the Primarchs ended long ago!!!!!"

(End of Chapter)