Chapter 578

Bang!!!

Forgebreaker was as heavy as meteorite iron falling from the sky, wrapped in rolling heat waves, and smashed heavily onto Abaddon's pitch-black Terminator power armor.

Fulgrim felt a slight soreness in his fingers and his face was a bit strange.

He had swung twenty-two hammers before finally breaking open the power armor on Abaddon, exposing his body.

As for Abaddon's skin, it was even more absurdly thick; no matter how many times Forgebreaker was swung, it just couldn't truly smash Abaddon's head.

As if in the dark, some power transcending reality and transcending fate was protecting him.

Was it the blessing of the Four Gods?

Fulgrim looked at the hideous runes on Abaddon's charred body; those runes were branded between Abaddon's blood and flesh like small wounds, appearing extremely twisted.

Although Abaddon looked like a human with almost no mutations on the outside, under his skin, between his flesh and blood, his body had already mutated into an extremely inhuman state under the erosion of Chaos evil energy.

It was those blessings of the Four Gods flowing in his mutated body that protected Abaddon and allowed him to withstand Fulgrim's twenty-two heavy hammers.

This kind of resistance was not purely at the material level, but a kind of resistance from a higher level, on the level of fate.

The gods twisted fate, forcibly ensuring that Abaddon would not be killed.

Any attempt to kill Abaddon would inexplicably be blocked, weakened, or invalidated.

This was an extremely powerful blessing and one of the reasons why Abaddon could roam the galaxy.

But Fulgrim had nothing but contempt for this.

To survive, Abaddon actually allowed the Four Gods to trample on his body like this.

And yet he still dared to claim that he had not surrendered to the Four Gods, claim that he was an independent existence, claim that he was using the gods.

He was clearly a plaything in the hands of the gods, a monster with a human skin but an interior that had long been twisted beyond recognition, a pathetic loser and fool.

If the price of obtaining power was to become such an ugly, twisted, and enslaved state, Fulgrim would rather die.

Fulgrim looked at the ugly Abaddon, and besides contempt, he also had a sigh that he could not suppress.

He could vaguely see Abaddon in his memory, see his brother Horus.

Horus was wearing armor as white as the bright moon, standing side by side with his Mournival on the high platform of the Vengeful Spirit, so noble, so sublime, almost perfect.

But now, where had his noble brother gone?

And where had those noble warriors gone?

"Abaddon, you have actually fallen to such a state."

"If the Horus who had not yet fallen back then saw this scene, how sad he would be."

"You are just a fake! You don't deserve to mention his name!" Abaddon struggled to stand up.

But Fulgrim kicked him in the chest, pinning him to the ground.

"He is a remnant, a fallen product, a failure."

"My father forged us to make us perfect people."

"Whoever can become a truly perfect person is the true Primarch of the Emperor's Children."

Fulgrim was not shaken at all by Abaddon's words; he slowly raised the warhammer in his hand.

He was curious if there was any way to bypass the gods' blessing on Abaddon.

Like not killing Abaddon directly, but slowly accumulating damage on Abaddon's body?

For example, bleeding Abaddon, slowly bleeding him to death.

For example, smashing Abaddon's limbs bit by bit, using intense pain to impact his will.

For example, pulling out Abaddon's spine inch by inch, making him completely paralyzed.

For example, peeling off Abaddon's skin, letting his skin be directly exposed to the air.

Fulgrim was very curious, very curious.

If he did all the above, would Abaddon still be able to survive, and if so, in what form?

He had enough opportunities to verify his curiosity.

After all, with the gods' blessing, Abaddon would not die easily.

Let's start with crushing Abaddon's limbs bit by bit!

I don't know why, even though this was the first time Fulgrim had done such a thing, he was unexpectedly familiar with it.

He swung the warhammer and smashed it toward Abaddon's fingers; a cracking sound rang out.

Fulgrim knew that Abaddon had thick skin and flesh, so after the warhammer fell, he did not lift it in time, but pressed it heavily on the ground, grinding it like turning a millstone.

A sharp sound of bone and metal rubbing rang out, sharp and ear-piercing, terrifying.

Fulgrim was grinding Abaddon's fingers very seriously, finely grinding them into powder, as if he were performing a delicate artistic creation.

"Ahhhhhhh!!!"

Abaddon gritted his teeth, but in the end, he could not suppress a painful wail.

"Fingers." A smile appeared on Fulgrim's mouth instinctively.

"... What are you going to do?" Abaddon looked at the smile on Fulgrim's mouth and felt a sense of fear out of thin air.

"Forearm." Fulgrim just said with a smile.

Abaddon's heart skipped a beat, but Forgebreaker had already fallen again, and there was another round of cruel crushing, grinding, and sharp, ear-piercing sounds.

"Elbow."

"Upper arm."

"Shoulder."

As Fulgrim's clear and elegant voice rang out one by one, Abaddon's left arm turned into a mass of festering meat paste.

"It's... it's over..." Abaddon watched Fulgrim lift the hammer, panting, his tone carrying a sense of luck.

"Over?"