Abaddon rushed toward the Lounge where the Word Bearers were quartered.
His footsteps rang out in rapid, heavy echoes against the metal floor, his hand clenched around his Power Axe.
As he went, the smell of blood grew stronger.
At first, it was only a faint trace of rust, mingled with the smell of machine oil and recycled air inside the warship, almost impossible to detect without paying close attention.
But the closer he came to the Word Bearers' quarters, the stronger and more pungent it became.
It was a mixture of blood, entrails, gunpowder, and death, a nauseating stench found only in places that had witnessed slaughter on a massive scale.
Rounding a corner, Abaddon stopped in front of a Lounge.
Several bullet holes remained in its Metal Door, and its edges bore the marks of a Chainsword. Wisps of smoke still rose from the blackened cuts.
The door stood half open, a sliver of dim light spilling through the gap along with an even stronger smell of blood.
He reached out and slowly pushed the door open.
Then he saw the scene inside the Lounge.
Ten corpses wearing the armour of the Sons of Horus Legion lay sprawled across the room.
The bodies lay in all manner of positions. Some were flat on their backs, their eyes still open, their gazes retaining the terror and disbelief of their final moments.
Others lay facedown, several wounds cut deep enough to expose bone across their backs. Blood still gushed from the wounds, gathering in dark red pools on the floor.
Their Chainswords lay scattered among the bodies. Some still gave off a faint buzz as their motors wound down, their teeth coated in blood and shredded flesh.
Henry sat amid the corpses, a Chainsword in his hand, checking them one