Imperium Nihilus, the tide of filth surged.
Upon the Vengeful Spirit's bridge, shaped like a daemon's skull, foul Warp light filtered through warped observation windows, casting its glow over Abaddon's weathered face, etched with hatred and the desire for destruction.
His crimson single eye fixed upon the blood-red target marked on the star chart—the Rock.
The remnants of fallen Caliban, the Dark Angels' last fortress, and also... the hiding place of a key fragment.
The miserable experience of being kicked around like a ball by that little fiend during their last encounter was branded deep into his soul like a red-hot iron.
That crushing, absolute power, that despair of utter helplessness, had carved one fact into his bones: a force beyond imagination had intervened in the galaxy's conflict.
It made him even more desperate to gather that artifact, that key capable of opening the forbidden gate.
"Vashtorr," Abaddon said in a low, hoarse voice, like rusted hinges grinding together. "Are you certain you can deal with the fortress's defenses?" He glanced at the enormous figure beside him, formed of molten metal, blazing engines, and twisted pipes. He did not underestimate the Rock's strength in the slightest, but this demigod had promised to dismantle its defenses.
Vashtorr's massive brass skull turned, the crimson single eye set within it glinting with greed and longing. With a piercing scrape of metal, he said, "Iron and fire... will reshape everything! The Rock's destruction is inevitable! Warmaster, the fragments are your responsibility. As for everything else, I will handle it!"
Abaddon sneered inwardly.
Of course, he would not place complete trust in this technological daemon.
But he needed Vashtorr's strength.
Just look at the massive fleet around them! Countless Chaos vessels personally "blessed" and "reconstructed" by Vashtorr twisted in blasphemous forms. Their armor was covered