Chapter 253

Abaddon was wrapped in a raging fire of anger, and the profane evil power of the Warp surged from his body.

The thousands of faces on Drach'nyen hissed in unison, singing praises to death, erosion, and destruction.

To be mocked by a mere mortal, to be suppressed by a mere mortal in front of the elites of the Black Legion, Abaddon simply could not endure it.

The Black Legion was, after all, a loose organization.

If he showed a hint of weakness, his subordinates would harbor ulterior motives, the strength of the Black Legion would weaken by a fraction, and the goal of overthrowing the Empire and slaying the False Hua Hua Hua Di Huang would be that much further away.

This was something he absolutely could not endure.

He had to kill this mortal here—

Seeing that Zhou Yun was no longer wielding the toy sword that had dimmed and lost its light, a flash of light crossed Abaddon's eyes, and he thought to himself that it was indeed as he expected.

It was the sword; all the problems were that toy sword.

Although he didn't know why Drach'nyen hadn't sensed the problem with that toy sword,

nor did he know why a mere toy sword could block a daemon weapon born from the first murder of humanity,

it was clear that the toy sword had a time limit.

Now, Abaddon could easily take the life of that mortal!

Drach'nyen was now cooperating with Abaddon as never before; it was also angry about the recent setback.

It was the nemesis of all humanity; even the Master of Mankind, the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang, should fear its authority.

It was the Death of Humanity, the inescapable murder.

Drach'nyen roared, venting its Warp evil power toward the mortal named Zhou Yun before it.

Suddenly, Abaddon felt Drach'nyen pause slightly.

Abaddon also suddenly felt a sense of hair-raising horror. He suddenly noticed that the white pocket on Zhou Yun's stomach had expanded at some unknown time.

A common master-crafted power sword tore through the wind and snow, its pale blue energy field swirling with powerful psychic energy, causing the snowflakes falling from the sky to melt.

In an instant, the sword seemed to cut a wound into the cold storm of Crassus.

Abaddon couldn't keep up with the speed of that sword at all, even if his attention was focused to the point where he only saw that power sword.

Drach'nyen seized control of his arm, quickly pulling back to intercept the power sword that was thrusting straight at Abaddon's chest.

But Abaddon's own physical constitution dragged the daemon sword down.

"Ah!!!!"

A cry of extreme pain came from his mouth, and Abaddon staggered back a few steps.

The chest of his power armor was torn open, and those hideous, twisted cables that writhed like tentacles extended from the tear.

At the same time, the wound left by Sigismund in the past was exposed to the cold wind, bleeding continuously.

A roaring power sword was now thrust into that wound, its blade imbued with powerful psychic energy, scorching Abaddon's flesh and soul.

Moreover, that power sword had precisely pierced one of Abaddon's two hearts, causing him unbearable pain.

The black sword he wore at his waist as a trophy vibrated slightly; the machine spirit within seemed to have come alive again, as if mocking Abaddon.

Perhaps some of Sigismund's consciousness remained in that sword, or the machine spirit within had been tainted by Sigismund's personality and emotions.

This was also the reason why Abaddon insisted on wearing the sword at his waist; he longed to have Sigismund witness him destroying the Empire bit by bit.

However, now, the only thing this black sword witnessed was... his clown-like, successive failures.

Abaddon raised his head hideously, staring fixedly at Zhou Yun.

Zhou Yun shook the pocket on his stomach slightly and looked at Abaddon with a smile:

"Warmaster, could you perform that again?"

"That part... 'The era of the Primarchs has ended!'"

As Zhou Yun's voice fell,

a tall figure draped in a flaxen robe crawled out of Zhou Yun's pocket.

The cold wind blew, and the flaxen robe, like flowing water, moved with the wind. The flowing robe also swept across the snow, leaving a shallow trace and outlining the figure's physique.

The robe outlined a towering, indeterminate figure, seemingly between reality and myth, like a marble statue.

He might be over three meters tall, or perhaps five or six meters tall.

Perhaps he had wings, perhaps he did not.

Perhaps he wore armor, perhaps he only wore a robe.

Everything was impossible to determine; it seemed that beneath the robe was only a shadow.

But without a doubt, even if it was a shadow, it was a shadow filled with divinity.

The air was quieter than at any other moment.

Both the Black Legion and the expeditionary force stopped their actions at this moment.

Both sides, who had been fighting, couldn't help but look at the figure standing beside Zhou Yun.

They didn't know who that was, didn't know what kind of existence that was, but they all felt that an existence far above mortals was standing there.

Saint Celestine let out a gasp filled with joy and surprise. The wound on her chest caused by Abaddon had already healed, her pure wings drooping slightly on the ground, her gaze filled with both disbelief and piety.

"Who are you?!"

Abaddon let out a sharp roar.

That sword just now, this size, this power, this sacred feeling that transcended the mortal world...

As an Astartes warrior who had survived from the Great Crusade era and had witnessed the figures of many Primarchs,

Abaddon knew that the one standing before him was undoubtedly...

"This is absolutely impossible!!!"

"Your era has already ended!!"

"Are you some kind of hallucination? Or the False Hua Hua Hua Di Huang's evil magic?"

Abaddon roared, condemning the figure before him.

However, the figure only let out a sigh that was almost pitying.

Abaddon inexplicably felt that the voice was familiar, seemingly the voice of someone he should never forget.

He violently reached out his hand, fiercely pulling out the common power sword from his chest and throwing it onto the snow. Blood instantly stained the ground red.

And the wound on his chest did not heal under the action of the cells released by the Larraman organ; instead, it bled continuously, as if the psychic power remaining on the wound was continuously damaging Abaddon's body.

A sense of dizziness assailed Abaddon's brain. He looked at the scar on his chest,

and discovered that it not only contained the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang's power, but was also mixed with the power from the Four Chaos Gods.

Abaddon couldn't help but let out a sneer, saying to the unknown figure before him:

"Look at how hypocritical you are, claiming loyalty yet having already fallen into the abyss of Chaos!"

"I only use Chaos, but you, how pathetic, actually submitting to them!"

"... Abaddon, what has clouded your eyes?"

A somewhat dull voice came from the mouth of the figure draped in the flaxen robe. His fingers took the Hot-Acting Clapperboard & Robot Director from Zhou Yun's hand without a trace and pressed it lightly.

"You were once a member of the Mournival, swearing in the name of Luna to provide counsel to the Primarch."

"But you have made mistake after mistake, covering your own eyes with your own hands."

"You knew the Great Heresy was a mistake, yet you made mistake after mistake, committing a ten-thousand-year mistake for the sake of one mistake."

"You knew the Gods manipulated the Warmaster, and also manipulated you, yet you closed your ears and turned a blind eye to your own fall."

"Ezekyle, what have you become..."

There was not a hint of hatred for Abaddon in the figure's words, only pity, regret, and deep self-reproach.

And Abaddon felt more and more that the voice was so familiar...

"No!"

Abaddon retreated a step violently, roaring in terror:

"You cannot be him! You are just a liar!"

"Does the False Hua Hua Hua Di Huang think he can scare me with this?!"

Abaddon roared in anger. Ignoring the wounds on his body, he held Drach'nyen high and lunged like a madman toward the figure draped in the flaxen robe.

That figure didn't even have a weapon in his hand.

And in Ezekyle Abaddon's hand was the daemon sword Drach'nyen—

However, Abaddon was already injured, and his speed was significantly slower than before.

The figure draped in the flaxen robe dodged the blade of the daemon sword with astonishing elegance. The flowing robe happened to sweep across the blade of Drach'nyen, which was flashing with dark blue light, and the robe was ignited, as if toying with Abaddon.

Then the figure's powerful arm violently gripped Abaddon's wrist, his body suddenly closing in on Abaddon.

Before Abaddon's brain could judge the situation, the figure draped in the flaxen robe reached toward Abaddon's waist.

"Ezekyle, this does not belong to you."

The black sword was unsheathed, the machine spirit roared in agitation, igniting the energy field on the blade like the dark night.

This black sword, forged from the fragments of Sigismund's sword, was held in the robed figure's hand and slashed straight down.

"Ah!!!!"

Abaddon wailed. His face was split right down the middle; his forehead, nose, and mouth were all split in two.

Just at this moment, Drach'nyen exerted force, controlling Abaddon's arm to block the black sword's second attack.

In an instant, a loud explosion rang out in the void, and the souls of everyone present felt a tremor.

They all seemed to see a vision, a vision of one person using a stone tool to kill another person...

Then Abaddon retreated several steps as if rolling and crawling, and the figure draped in the flaxen robe also retreated slightly.

"No wonder Father was so wary of you, Drach'nyen." The figure in the flaxen robe sighed slightly and said.

Abaddon braced his body, attempting to lunge at the figure again, but his legs went soft, and he fell heavily to his knees in the snow.

He panted heavily, raising his head fiercely, and the robed figure also walked slowly to Abaddon's front.

The cold wind blew the flaxen robe slightly, revealing the figure's face, and Abaddon happened to see it.

He gasped, his pupils trembling uncontrollably, his mouth wide open, his tongue twitching continuously, and it took a great effort to spit out a complete sentence.

"Father?"

"How are you not dead?!"

(End of chapter)