The Ambush from Behind

If Abaddon had harbored any doubts before boarding, wary that Guilliman might have laid a trap...

Now, after witnessing his elite Black Legion crush several companies of Ultramarines with an almost overwhelming force, the last trace of worry in Abaddon's heart had completely disappeared.

A trap? Perhaps.

But the Ultramarines before him now looked more like cornered beasts making a desperate last stand.

A thousand years of slumber had sent his opinion of the Primarch he had once feared—the Imperium's perfect Regent—into a steep decline.

If it were him, with the enemy commander invading his ship, he would never cower on the command bridge. He would personally lead his elite troops into this battle to defend his honor, serving as a banner to rally their morale!

Yet even now, that "Primarch" still refused to show himself, hiding in his command chamber on the bridge.

Like a panicked bureaucratic noble, faced with overwhelming strength, he could only beg for his life like a lowly ant.

This had also allowed Abaddon to see Robert Guilliman for what he was.

Perhaps this Primarch was skilled at playing politics, but at the end of the day, this was a battlefield, not a political arena, let alone a game of power. Guilliman might have laid traps and ambushes here.

But from this brief boarding skirmish, Abaddon had already seen through Guilliman completely.

The Primarch might be powerful, but how many powerful beings had Abaddon not slain?

The blessings of the Chaos Gods and the Daemon Sword Drach'nyen had given him absolute confidence in his strength, which he believed was every bit the equal of a Primarch's.

As for Guilliman's head, it was simply a more valuable trophy for him to add to his collection.

"Pick up the pace!"

Abaddon's order was firm and decisive, without