Under Vashtorr's care, Abaddon's soul gritted his teeth and began devouring the fragnts from the lesser warp gods.
All these lesser warp soul fragnts had been captured by Vashtorr. There were many lesser gods in the warp, not just daemons—these lesser gods were nurous as well.
So of them were born from the worship of entire species, but after their races were exterminated, these gods lost their foundation.
Although they didn't perish outright, they could no longer grow in power without worship. These lesser gods were born and died every day.
They weren't quite as common as demons, but if you wanted to find them, you could.
The fragnts Vashtorr offered were all extrely weak. After being blessed by the Four Gods, Abaddon's soul possessed imnse strength—he had lived in the Eye of Terror for ten thousand years.
In that ti, the chaotic energies of the warp had constantly influenced the Black Warmaster's soul, making him ever stronger. Abaddon was only a hair's breadth away from being a lesser god himself. If he fought a weak lesser god, the outco would be uncertain!
Devouring these fragnts didn't cause him much trouble at all. Instead, Abaddon found the taste of these godly shards to be incomparably delicious—like the most exquisite delicacies in existence.
He greedily devoured piece after piece. Before long, the Black Warmaster's soul grew visibly stronger and more corporeal.
Vashtorr smiled slightly at this—this was exactly what he wanted!
Unlike Vashtorr himself, who was a god of chanical life, flesh, and the rules of the forge, so lesser gods were dood to die the mont they were born.
To help the Black Warmaster's soul absorb these fragnts, Vashtorr had specially refined them. He hadn't chosen overly powerful lesser gods.
As Abaddon devoured the fragnts, Vashtorr got to work, bringing out the raw materials he'd long prepared: the corpse of the forr Warmaster Horus.
This wasn't a clone, but the real body of the Imperial Warmaster, which his followers had recovered to the Eye of Terror and which Vashtorr had obtained for certain reasons.
With a sinister grin, Vashtorr tossed Horus's body into the life forge.
He then produced the clones left over from cloning other Primarchs and threw them in as well.
Next ca endless demon flesh—the lesser demons Vashtorr had enslaved. He began dragging in wave after wave of lowly daemons and tossing them into the massive forge.
Vast amounts of warp energy were injected, and the life forge radiated unimaginable brilliance.
A new body was forged—so powerful and perfect even Vashtorr coveted it.
It was a giant shell about 4 ters tall, rippling with imnse muscle, blending human flesh with warp power.
This body contained the essence of a gene-Primarch and the essence of a chaos demon, perfectly fused by Vashtorr's life forge.
anwhile, Abaddon's soul underwent a dramatic transformation, radiating terrifying warp energy and dazzling light.
"I feel incomparably powerful! You didn't deceive , Vashtorr. Is this the new body you prepared for ?"
The Chaos Warmaster Abaddon's soul spoke, facing the 4-ter-tall corpse.
"Indeed! It's a flawless shell, able to perfectly house your soul, different from those gene-Primarch bodies.
Those bodies still have flaws; they can even age. Primarchs, too, eventually die.
Except for a few special ones, all the others have a limited lifespan.
But this body is different—it's my perfect creation.
It can perfectly fuse with your soul and allow you to unleash the full might of the lesser warp gods around you."
Vashtorr replied.
"Then, let us begin the final step!"
Abaddon nodded, stepping toward the body, and the two began to rge.
A storm of energy swept through the warp. Endless chaos energy surged into the Warmaster's new body.
"Vashtorr! My new body needs a special power—I want the ability to grow gigantic, or I won't be able to defeat the female Primarch."
Abaddon declared.
He rembered clearly who was responsible for his current predicant. To defeat the female gene-Primarch, he needed to match her size.
"That's simple! You can use your divine power to channel warp energy and grow as large as a mountain—being hundreds of ters tall is no problem."
Vashtorr replied.
It was just a matter of changing size—not a difficult feat. Don't underestimate the chaos Primarch I've created!
Abaddon's soul finally completed its fusion with the body. The 4-ter-tall giant stood up, his body enveloped in black-red light, then rapidly expanded into a 100-ter-tall titan.
"Here's your weapon. This daemon sword returned to the warp after your defeat and now returns to your side."
Vashtorr waved his hand.
Abaddon's daemon sword, Drach'nyen, flew to him, instantly transforming into a blade ten ters wide and seventy ters high.
Vashtorr grinned, then produced another creation: a power claw radiating demonic energy—Abaddon's Claw.
This was no longer Horus's weapon, but one made for Abaddon alone, forged with daemon engine technology and warp science.
The weapon possessed all the power of Horus's Talon but was now a true artifact, far beyond an ordinary power weapon.
It had a disintegration field as well as terrifying daemon power, granting access to warp energy.
Abaddon nodded, donning the giant claw and swinging Drach'nyen, releasing a sword beam hundreds of ters long that instantly destroyed countless daemons. Abaddon's Claw radiated both daemon energy and a disintegration field.
"Hahaha! Now I feel more powerful than ever.
The old was so insignificant, so narrow-minded.
This is true power! True strength!"
Abaddon shouted, feeling the chaos power surging through him.
With this strength, he was confident he could now kill his father—even if his true father returned, he would no longer be his match.
"Enjoy this power to your heart's content! Then go raise hell!"
Vashtorr laughed.
It seed his experint had succeeded, and now he could move to the next plan: creating his chaos Primarch.
With the rift between realspace and the warp fully torn open, his long-awaited opportunity had co. He could beco the fifth chaos god, perhaps even surpassing the others.
As the god of machines, life, creation, and fusion, Vashtorr sensed sothing new: new chanical constructs, new technology, new life erging in the material universe.
It was like tossing a live fish into a stagnant pond—he could feel that the whole universe was about to change.
And since the warp was a reflection of reality, it too would transform. A universe-wide revolution was about to begin.
But that was fine—let the world change! Only through change could the four never fall from their thrones, and only then could Vashtorr have his chance.
This change favored him—new life, new machines, and new technology would bring him new power.
He needn't do anything—simply wait quietly for the universe's changes. This revolution was good for him.
He could sense a mysterious new presence had appeared in the universe, well-protected but undeniably the source of all change.
The Dark King helped him, the Harlequin helped him, and even the unborn Death God helped him from the shadows.
Vashtorr had a premonition: soon, the warp would see great upheaval, and the days of those four bastards were numbered.
The old chessmasters would leave the board, and a new generation would take their place.
Abaddon left Vashtorr's realm satisfied, returning to his Black Legion to lead his chaos army against the Imperium.
...
On Rhodes' space fortress, when Abaddon's corpse was brought aboard, the Black Templars went mad.
This was the Black Warmaster Abaddon's corpse! Along with fragnts of his Terminator armor and Horus's Talon.
"By the Emperor! Great gene-father Rhodes,
Lord High Marshal Sigismund!
Do you see this? Our crusade has finally brought victory!"
The Black Templar Marshal knelt in excitent.
They stared at the headless corpse and Abaddon's severed head, tears of joy streaming down their faces.
For ten thousand years, since Sigismund's death, every Black Templar had awaited this day.
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