Really, I'm Fighting Abaddon?

An opportunity!

A glimmer of hope had appeared!

Slaanesh's "Daemon Prince," the phoenix Fulgrim, was favored by a Chaos God. Abaddon was now utterly certain of it.

He—Abaddon the Despoiler, Inheritor of the Luna Wolves, Son of Horus, Chaos Marshal—was unquestionably the "Chosen of the Four Gods"!

"Move! Move!!!" Abaddon's voice was broken and hoarse. He struggled with all his might, barely managing to lift his massive frame.

His Terminator Armour had been struck by the Emperor's Sword again and again. Its pure, holy flames scorched his flesh and even his soul, making every movement bring him immense pain.

Blood mixed with blasphemous machine oil gushed from his deep, searing wounds. The agony made his vision swim with darkness. His bloodshot eyes stayed fixed on that blue-and-gold figure—not with relief at having survived, but with the purest rage and humiliation!

Guilliman!

Then he turned his gaze to the human. His hatred surged even higher, a palpable flame that seemed ready to devour him alive.

"Alvin! You despicable, shameless bastard! Just you wait—!"

If it weren't for this human, the Black Legion's elite wouldn't have suffered such terrible losses. Abaddon wouldn't have nearly been driven into a dead end by Guilliman, and that damned snake wouldn't have had to save his life at the last moment!

"Retreat! Hurry up and retreat!" Abaddon's voice wheezed like a broken bellows. His order rang out with unquestionable authority across the Black Legion's chaotic comms.

He stopped looking at Fulgrim, Guilliman, and Alvin.

While Fulgrim kept the Primarch occupied, he would lead the remnants of the Black Legion—nearly shattered by the Ultramarines—to safety. For the Legion, for the Luna Wolves, and for himself, he would preserve the last faint hope of rebuilding!

BOOM!

A thunderous impact rocked the ship.

It was the Black Legion's fleet.