Smoke filled the air, metal twisted, and the roars of Orks, the thunder of weapons, and the wails of the dying wove together into a symphony of hell.
Horus, Luke, and the elite Luna Wolves squad close behind them struggled out of the wreckage left in Vashtorr's firestorm.
Blazing golden holy flames flickered around Horus. Her golden eyes, burning with rage, frantically swept the chaotic corridors, yet she could no longer catch Abaddon's loathsome presence.
"Abaddon—!!!" A roar of utter fury burst from Horus's chest, laden with ten thousand years of resentment, the humiliation of betrayal, and the agony of failure at the final moment. It shook the surrounding metal debris until it hummed.
The violent pressure of a primarch spread like something tangible, making the nearby Orks and Chaos warriors pause in their slaughter.
At that moment, a steady hand gently settled on her shoulder plate.
Luke's calm voice pierced through Horus's boiling killing intent. "Anger will cloud your judgment. He can't have gone far. Deal with the enemies inside the fortress first."
Powerful Force energy flowed like a clear spring, carrying a will of comfort and calm as it slowly entered Horus's frenzied mind.
The rage that threatened to burn everything down was forcibly suppressed. Though the killing intent in her eyes did not diminish in the slightest, her chaotic thoughts instantly became clear and sharp.
She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the cold scent of metal.
"Thank you for your help, Saint Luke." Horus's voice regained its metallic majesty. She abruptly raised her head and used her internal communicator to directly connect to the core corridor area, her voice even drowning out Perturabo's engines and the Ork warlord's roars:
"Old Lion! This is Horus! The situation is on the verge of collapse! The Ork