A few minutes earlier.
Abaddon was surrounded by Legion warriors in Justaerin Terminator Armour. Their towering figures surged into the corridor from both ends, heavy footsteps echoing across the metal floor.
They wore matching suits of dark green Terminator Armour, their breastplates branded with golden Sons of Horus insignia and their pauldrons engraved with the markings of the Justaerin.
Their helmet visors gleamed an eerie blue in the dim light. Their expressions were hidden, but their aggressive bearing made their hostile intentions clear.
Abaddon stood in the middle of the corridor, encircled by those towering figures.
Every one of the Justaerin Terminators stood half a head taller than him and was broader by a full measure. Their heavy Terminator Armour made them look like walking steel fortresses.
Their shadows fell across Abaddon, engulfing him in oppressive darkness. Yet he showed no fear.
He stood at the center of the encirclement, his back straight and his head held high, his calm gaze sweeping over the figures surrounding him as though they were the ones trapped, not him.
He slowly clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking, and finally fixed his gaze on the figure at their head.
Kaebo pushed through the crowd and hurried to Abaddon's side.
His gaze landed on the warrior leading them, his voice brimming with barely contained anger and wariness. "Makro! What do you think you're doing?"
The warrior at their head—Makro, the newly appointed Deputy Commander of the Justaerin Terminator Force—slowly removed his helmet, revealing an angular face marked by an old scar that ran diagonally from his forehead, across the bridge of his nose, and down to his jaw.
A provocative smile tugged at his lips. His voice carried a deliberately solemn tone, as though he were issuing a formal challenge. "Commander Kaebo, I want justice