Tzeentch, who had been peering into Khorne's actions, felt a rare flicker of surprise. It seemed the relentless string of setbacks had actually caused that brute to grow a semblance of a brain. Tzeentch had fully expected Khorne to simply hurl Khârn directly onto that massive Iron Man vessel.
The Architect of Fate had even prepared himself to watch Khorne resurrect Khârn yet again, ready to mock the Blood God in front of his most favored warrior.
However, Khorne's behavior had exceeded his calculations by a considerable margin.
Tzeentch stroked his abstract chin, shifting his multifaceted attention to Abaddon the Despoiler, his mind churning with incomprehensible, discordant sounds as he wove a new scheme.
Abaddon stood upon the bridge of his flagship, a vessel twisted and warped by the raw power of Chaos. His towering frame exuded an aura of cold authority and command. Chaos runes were etched deep into his black Terminator plate, the Talon of Horus shimmering with a baleful light. Behind him, his black cloak billowed in the sudden atmospheric eddies kicked up by a surging Warp-vortex.
As he emerged, Khârn let out a roar of maniacal laughter. The sound invoked a surge of sanguine energy; emotions of pure rage and slaughter instantly infected the bridge, sparing neither the warriors of the Black Legion nor the daemonic crew.
"Abaddon! The Blood God commands! Today, you shall stand beside me and take vengeance upon this rotting Imperium! Let them tremble in terror; let their worlds crumble into ash beneath our fury!"
Khârn's voice echoed through the bridge like thunder, causing the very deck-plates to vibrate in resonance.
Abaddon narrowed his eyes, a flash of irritation crossing his features. Yet, faced with the overwhelming scent of Khorne's favor radiating from Khârn, he did not dare dismiss him lightly.
"Khârn, you madman. Why has the Blood God sent you here? My crusade is already planned; I have no need for a reckless butcher to disrupt my designs."
His voice was low and rasping, carrying the weight of ten millennia of cold confidence.
Faced with a Khârn who was perpetually ready to claim heads for the Skull Throne, Abaddon felt the onset of a profound headache. Though he had turned to Chaos, he had never truly submitted to it. His goal was the destruction of the decaying Imperium and the False Emperor upon the Golden Throne, but Khorne's interference galled him.
True, Khârn was far more lucid than Angron, who had become little more than wetware for the Butcher's Nails. Nor had Khârn attempted to seize Abaddon's fleet to pursue some errand beyond the Warmaster's grand strategy.
Yet, this intervention suggested that the Ruinous Powers were losing what little, perhaps non-existent, trust they had in him.
Still, considering the visitor was neither Ahriman nor Magnus, Abaddon reined in his wandering thoughts. If his secret dealings with Vashtorr the Arkifane were discovered by Tzeentch, his position as the Warmaster of the Four would be at an end.
Khârn slammed his chain-axe into the deck, igniting a spray of sparks and ripples in the Warp.
"Haha! You arrogant fool! The will of the Blood God is absolute! The curs of the Imperium must bleed! If you will not cooperate, you set yourself against the Blood God himself!"
Khârn ripped off his helm, his eyes locking onto Abaddon's, their blood-red glow seemingly threatening to consume the Warmaster.
Abaddon remained silent for a moment, weighing the consequences. He knew the extent of Khorne's power and Khârn's insanity. If he refused, this lunatic might very well attempt to butcher his way through the flagship then and there. While Abaddon was confident he could best Khârn in single combat, Vashtorr was currently hidden deep within the Warp. Should a conflict erupt, the Vengeful Spirit would inevitably suffer further damage.
Abaddon had no desire to waste his strength on this madman. Recruits for Chaos Warbands were becoming increasingly scarce, and even the pirate fleets were dwindling.
"Very well, Khârn. But you shall follow my command. No unsanctioned sorties. Our goals are aligned, the downfall of the Imperium, but it must be achieved through strategy."
Seeing that Abaddon had relented, Khârn laughed again, a sound of pure bloodlust.
"Hahaha! As long as the Blood God is satisfied, I care not for your 'strategy.' But do not expect mercy from me, the False Emperor's lackeys shall all be sacrifices for the Skull Throne!"
The surrounding Warp energies grew increasingly violent. Following Khârn's laughter, a fleet of Chaos warships belonging to the World Eaters tore into realspace.
Abaddon's initial resentment flickered into a grim sort of satisfaction. These were brainless but peerless tools of slaughter.
As Abaddon's orders were broadcast, the long-dormant Balefleet began to move once more. Khârn followed in his wake, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent, desperate to bring death and ruin to Imperial soil. A bloody banquet of vengeance was about to begin.
They did not know, however, that this "banquet" would soon become a metallic noose, tightening around all their necks.
…
In contrast to the convoluted schemes of Chaos, the Titan's Spear simply blasted its way through every obstacle. While Chaos sorcery relied on the element of surprise, it was remarkably ineffective against the Iron Men. Malignant spells designed to wither the soul were as useless as a sword striking the wind when faced with soulless machinery.
Axion was deeply displeased by the constant interference from the Warp. To address this, the Titan's Spear sacrificed a measure of efficiency for the sake of thoroughness.
Previously, the great vessel would have transitioned directly from the Warp into the Nachmund Gauntlet. This time, it deliberately returned to realspace before entering the corridor.
In the void surrounding the shattered remains of Cadia, every Chaos vessel caught in the path of the Titan's Spear was vaporized within minutes by the ship's dense weapon batteries. As for the planet Cadia itself, already terminally corrupted by the Warp, it fared no better, it was blasted into cosmic dust by a rain of Fragmentation Cannons and Nova Cannon shells.
Across the broken landscape, countless daemons, cultists, and Chaos marines were catapulted into the void in an instant.
Having enacted a measure of "extra" retribution against the forces of Chaos, the giant ship plunged into the Nachmund Gauntlet. Any Chaos vessel or daemonic entity that dared manifest in its flight path was met with an unreasonable volume of overlapping fire. Shattered hulks of Chaos ships soon littered the Warp-route.
Imperial Navy observers, who had the fortune of witnessing the Ruinous Powers being so thoroughly brutalized, raised their voices in loud praise of the Emperor.
Meanwhile, on Terra, Roboute Guilliman was working himself to the point of exhaustion.
Lion El'Jonson had, true to form, burdened Guilliman with a mountain of additional labor, including the summary execution of a significant number of "dedicated" officials from the Adeptus Administratum, which had paralyzed several key departments.
The resulting vacancies required immediate filling. While the "Imperial parasites" the Lion had slain were certainly problematic, their failures hardly warranted such a terminal sentence in the eyes of the pragmatic Lord Commander.
Prickly and uncompromising, such was the nature of the Lion. Even if he had misapplied the law, the Lion would never admit to being in the wrong.
Just as Guilliman felt he might descend into madness, Axion sent a transmission: Vulkan, the Lord of Drakes, had been recovered by the Iron Men and would soon arrive on Terra.
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