"Damn it."
Abaddon slammed his fist onto the table before him with a dull thud.
His body trembled slightly with anger, his fingers tightening against the tabletop until his knuckles turned white.
His gaze rested on the dark green Legion banner on the wall ahead, but the fire burning in his eyes made it clear that his attention was nowhere near it.
"Brutus, Brutus, bloody Brutus again," Abaddon muttered, his voice thick with barely contained anger and irritation.
Ever since he had awakened, that name had lodged like a thorn in his throat, something he could neither swallow nor spit out.
Everyone was talking about Brutus—how bravely he had fought on Ullanor, how he had saved the Warmaster's life, how he had taken over as captain of the First Company, how he had brought the Justaerin Terminator Force into perfect order.
The name seemed to have become a standard, a yardstick by which everything was measured, while he, Abaddon, had been placed at the other end of that yardstick to be compared, measured, and judged.
"Where is he? I'm going to find him." Abaddon spun toward Kaebo, his voice carrying a resolve that brooked no refusal.
His fists remained clenched, as though he were ready to turn that anger into action at any moment.
Kaebo shook his head, his expression calm and restrained, with the composure of someone long accustomed to Abaddon's temper. "He isn't aboard the Vengeful Spirit. The Primarch sent him on a mission—I haven't found out exactly what it is, but apparently it will take some time to complete. No one has seen him these past few days. Even his own men don't know where he's gone."
Kaebo's words only made Abaddon angrier.
The anger with nowhere to go churned and swelled in his chest like a