Time in the Warp had long since twisted, like a rubber band stretched and kneaded over and over, stripped of every fixed reference and measure.
In the Materium, perhaps only a few minutes had passed, perhaps years, perhaps centuries.
But deep in the Deep Pit, within that pocket dimension sealed off by the power of Chaos, the Khan and Abial had been fighting for hundreds of years.
Time had long since lost its meaning here. It was no longer a linear, irreversible river, but a chaotic vortex of endless overlaps and cycles, trapping the two of them within it and entangling them again and again in unending slaughter.
The Khan had long since exhausted himself.
His body had reached the brink of its limits. His muscles had begun tearing from overuse, his bones had begun cracking under repeated impacts, and his blood kept draining away, leaving his vision alternately clear and blurred.
But the honor of a son of Chogoris, the pride of the eagle of the steppes, still drove the Khan to fight Abial.
It was no longer the strength of his body, but the strength of his will, the strength of his soul—the final resolve of a Primarch facing utter desperation, surpassing the limits of flesh.
"You're already dead!"
Abial unleashed a deafening roar that echoed through the Deep Pit, carrying the certainty and confidence of a final verdict.
He delivered another frontal cleave. The Giant Blade traced a ponderous arc through the air and crashed down toward the Khan's head with enough force to split a mountain.
The Khan did not answer.
He no longer had any strength to spare for words. Every breath, every heartbeat, every second of his energy had to go into his blade, into blocking and striking back.
Only the slashes of the