Rip!
Rip!
Abaddon raised his Power Axe high, tracing a deadly arc through the air.
The blade cut into armour with a sharp, grating sound, like heavy canvas tearing, followed by the dull crunch of shattering bone and the wet sound of severed flesh.
The heads of several Sons of Horus Legion warriors flew into the air in an instant. Momentum carried their bodies a few steps forward before they crashed to the floor, dark red blood gushing from their severed necks and gathering in warm puddles.
By now, Abaddon had abandoned all regard for the bonds between Legion brothers.
His gaze was cold and sharp, like stars on a winter night, without a trace of hesitation or mercy.
His movements were swift and clean. Every swing struck a vital point with precision, without the slightest wasted flourish.
In his eyes, the memories of fighting side by side were gone, as were the bonds forged by covering one another on the battlefield.
Now, there were only the loyal and the traitorous.
Nothing more.
"How much farther?" Abaddon shook the blood from his axe blade and looked down the gloomy corridor ahead toward Torgaddon, who led the group.
"Almost there." Torgaddon walked at the head of the group with a Bolter in one hand and a Chainsword in the other.
His stride was steady and swift, his gaze sweeping every corner of the corridor and behind every door, alert for any enemies who might appear.
He knew the layout of the Vengeful Spirit inside out.
After all, he had spent countless days and nights aboard this warship and taken part in countless tactical planning sessions and drills. Every passage, compartment, and maintenance duct was etched into his memory.
The several hundred escapees made their way through the Vengeful Spirit's lower decks