Many years later, in those last few years when he could still be a pure warrior and a brute, the First Company Captain of the Luna Wolves Legion would still remember the duel that was interrupted.
No, it couldn't even be called a duel, just the simplest kind of competition, but that didn't stop Abaddon from genuinely remembering the giant of the Second Legion: after all, a formidable opponent like that would indeed leave a deep impression on everyone.
The hurried battle was like a feast after starving hunger; you wouldn't even remember what happened at the very beginning. When Abaddon recalled everything, he would always start with a violent pain his breastplate being precisely struck by the heaviest blow, forcing him and his heavy power armor back several steps.
Hektor, that guy.
He was a monster, a monster born with the purest strength. He didn't even need to wield his power sword; he only needed to clench his fist, grit his teeth, and swing it heavily, which was enough to shatter an unsuspecting helmet and skull, killing an Astartes.
Abaddon even wondered if this fellow, whose height and build were comparable to a slightly smaller Primarch, was truly the offspring of the Second Legion's master. If possible, he would rather believe Hektor came from the Salamanders Legion, or was a Luna Wolf who had wandered astray.
After all…
He didn't deny Lady Morgana's immense power, but he also didn't believe that the relatively slender Primarch could be the gene-mother of a giant like Hektor, or those bloodthirsty "madmen" who were like sharks. This truly exceeded his wildest imagination.
Just thinking about that group of guys, more insane than War Hounds, gathered beneath her throne, bowing obediently, was enough to send a genuine shiver down Abaddon's spine.
However, reality didn't grant him the luxury of further thought. After successfully forcing back the strongest Luna Wolf, Hektor's offensive didn't delay in the slightest. Morgana's most favored pawn had learned his strengths and weaknesses during more than a decade of bloody battles against various Randan elites.
He knew what he should do, and he knew what he needed to avoid. He faithfully adhered to these insights and rarely attempted to break through his shortcomings in battle. It was for this reason that he survived.
His body was the most terrifying weapon he possessed: his towering physique, his unmatched strength, his sturdy bones, and his stable center of gravity.
These were enough to give him the upper hand at the beginning of a fight, launching a relentless barrage of savage and brutal heavy blows that left any opponent breathless, defeating the most cunning foes with the most ponderous methods.
Conversely, once his attacks were successfully blocked, delayed, or seen through, his disadvantage in combat experience would be particularly targeted and exploited.
Although he had already endured the entire Second Randan War, Hektor deeply knew that compared to the countless Terra Veterans and battle-hardened elites rampant in many legions now, he was still a greenhorn.
His battles couldn't be prolonged.
The Son of Morgana's strides and attacks were like a heavy hammer enveloped by a thunderstorm. He twisted power and speed together in the most brutal way,
forming an unbreakable long whip that relentlessly pursued Abaddon's retreating steps, striking the battle-hardened Terminator Armor of the Luna Wolf again and again. Abaddon felt as if he was facing a breathing mountain.
It was an unstoppable offensive. If Abaddon were an ordinary Astartes warrior, that certainly wouldn't be the case.
But he was not. He was Horus's most audacious offspring, a veteran of the Crusade who had fought for nearly eighty years, reinforced and augmented by specialized Terminator Armor, an immovable master of confrontation.
He retreated repeatedly under Hektor's savage relentless assault, gritting his teeth, swinging the power axe and power claw in his hands,
clashing and contending with Morgana's most favored pawn with all his might again and again. When he felt there was an opportunity, his power axe would fiercely collide with Hektor's longsword.
Conversely, when he felt Hektor's assault was too heavy, he would raise his power claw as a shield, relying on the thick armor and steady footwork to block Hektor's most brutal attacks, waiting for the possibility of a counterattack.
The silver and black figures thus tore and collided in the vast arena. This place was originally a spacious cage capable of hosting ten duels simultaneously,
but as these two most fearsome beasts began their fight, unknowingly, all other contests had ended, and all the Luna Wolves were wholeheartedly watching this clash, offering equal cheers for every splendid exchange.
The silver and black whirlwind continued its relentless struggle, observing and destroying each other. Hektor's advance and Abaddon's retreat stretched across half the arena,
until the Luna Wolf's steps became steadier, until Hektor's brow furrowed deeper, until the thick Terminator Armor was covered in countless marks and white indentations from the repeated jabs of a greenish poisonous blade.
Until Abaddon's footsteps, after another retreat, firmly planted him in place.
This time, he did not retreat again.
After a period had passed since the start of this contest, and after countless silent confrontations had begun and ended, Horus's proudest son for the first time proactively raised his battle axe and launched a swift offensive, which was met only by Hektor's silent, heavy strike.
Neither Horus's beloved son nor Morgana's pride were individuals who enjoyed lengthy speeches in battle; at least not yet. Moreover, they were far from familiar with each other.
The battle continued in the silence of fangs and Luna Wolves, amidst the continuous cheers and discussions of the onlookers. The most experienced Sons of Horus easily foretold the impending end of the battle: Hektor's offensive was blocked, he was even starting to face Abaddon's counterattacks, and this meant he had no more opportunities.
The Son of Morgana's silent swings became predictable, his rhythm broken, his longsword ruthlessly caught. White marks, indicating hits, began to appear frequently on his armor, even though he still launched fierce counterattacks. A single swing of his clenched fist was enough to make Abaddon grit his teeth, cursing and marveling at his monstrous strength in secret.
But this could not stop the inevitable. When Horus's orders, accompanied by the horn of war, reached the ears of every Luna Wolf, anyone could see that Abaddon's victory was only a matter of time.
Yet, even so, those Luna Wolves who witnessed this battle were still willing to pat Hektor on the arm when they passed him, praising his talent and offering him a smile of acknowledgment and affirmation.
Especially Abaddon, who solemnly introduced his name to the Son of Morgana, genuinely regretting the abrupt end of the contest.
Hektor was not among the most powerful warriors he had ever seen; Abaddon knew at least twenty Angels of Death who had a vast gap in strength compared to Hektor at that moment. But this did not prevent his fight with Hektor from becoming one of his happiest memories.
This kind of close-quarters combat, where tactics were almost unnecessary, and victory was decided by pure strength and instinct, was truly a scene that would only appear in Abaddon's dreams.
It was just a pity that such battles would not happen again for a long time: he and Hektor were not in the same combat sequence, nor even in the same Legion.
It was unknown when they would be able to fight side-by-side next time.
——————
That's what Abaddon thought before he was assigned to Morgana's squad.
——————
However, he truly hadn't expected to have a day as a diplomatic envoy.
He always thought that was Sevatar's job.
Horus's most reckless child knocked down a struggling Randan soldier with a single claw, spitting disdainfully as he surveyed the corridor he had just single-handedly captured.
To describe the twisted and ugly alien warship in human language was almost an impossible task. Abaddon's gaze lingered for a moment on the swaying chains and shackles, then he followed the direction of the fighting and marched towards another unknown battlefield.
Approximately one Terra Standard Hour had passed since Horus and Morgana made that casual wager aboard the Vengeful Spirit, and the slaughter of the Randan Fleet was reaching its conclusion.
It was a simple battle, so tedious there was almost nothing worth remembering or recounting. Although Horus hadn't brought his entire Legion, at least sixty thousand warriors from Holy Terra and Cthonia still followed Warmaster Horus to this star system. Faced with such an overwhelming disparity in power, a mere ten thousand Randan warriors couldn't even stir a ripple.
After losing fewer than a hundred Sons of Horus, the battle ended. The vast majority of Randan soldiers died in the long-range artillery fire, which was a hundred times that of their fleet.
The Vengeful Spirit, exclusively belonging to Horus, achieved the most kills in this hunt, until the remaining few Randan ships were forced to huddle together, awaiting the boarding forces of the Human Imperium.
Warmaster Horus longed for a close-quarters hunting competition with his kin and also hoped to capture a few alien warships. Six Sons of Morgana and one hundred and fourteen Luna Wolves followed their Primarch onto the scarred battlefield.
Over the next hour, Horus led his children, unleashing bloody storms amidst waves of aliens that outnumbered them dozens of times over.
His iron boots and claws were quickly stained crimson with desecrated blood. Every time he personally hunted a hundred opponents, he would softly tally his score in the two Primarchs' communication channel.
Victory came easily. Without the Second Legion's master using her psychic powers, Horus consistently maintained a lead of at least a hundred kills over his kin. Although the Spider Queen's voice remained calm, Warmaster Horus still detected a hint of smiling frustration and murmuring born of defeat.
He smiled, and across the distance of the warships and the void, the gene-father of the Luna Wolves imagined the lively eyes of his kin.
——————
In Morgana's pupils, there was only dead silence.
She casually summoned her power from the Sea of Souls, exploring the gathered Randan military might, then teleported there, completing her hunt with nonchalant ease.
The most elite Xenos warriors fought with suicidal determination. Their sturdy armor allowed them to endure the crossfire and roaring chainswords of Astartes warriors for a prolonged period, until the arrival of a Primarch.
The seemingly frail master of the Second Legion casually waved her arm, her attention long since shifted to something tens of thousands of miles away. Her slender fingers conjured silent gusts of wind, batting away one ton-heavy alien elite after another, smashing them into hardened walls, turning them into pools of blood.
At this moment, Morgana was in a state almost akin to an out-of-body experience. She paid no mind to Horus's words, instead answering him with a tone of innate, almost instinctive disappointment, perfectly calibrated to counter Warmaster Horus's small display of pride.
The Spider Queen's will had been completely captivated by the world before her: an utterly barren world, scattered with large and small fortresses and desperate alien defenders.
From its appearance alone, no one could imagine why this world would so attract the Randan Emperor. Before the Tacus Campaign began, the main Randan fleet had lingered in orbit around this world for at least three Terra Standard Days, which had even affected numerous military operations of the alien army against the Tacus System.
Morgana had originally been puzzled by this strange matter, until she transmitted her consciousness to that world, until she saw the sprawling underground kingdoms
beneath those unremarkable fortresses, until she realized that they could not be the work of the Randan army, because they were undoubtedly painstakingly excavated and developed over a long period by a powerful force.
And Morgana soon learned who these underground kingdoms once belonged to.
She was there.
Deep underground in the world before her eyes.
She sensed the lingering aura of a Primarch.
It was a kind of…
A scent of the soul.
——————
A Primarch had left something on this world.
And it had not been taken by the Randan Emperor.
——————
When Morgana realized this.
Horus's status in her heart had temporarily plummeted to an "insignificant" level. He was swept away by a more distant spiderweb, making way for Morgana's new prey.
But then, Morgana blinked, remembered something, and temporarily restored Horus's status.
After all, given what had happened before and the state of all the Primarchs, the one most likely to have left something here was the Eleventh Primarch, who had disappeared without a trace.
If this barren world was once one of the Eleventh Legion's command centers during the Second Randan War, then those vast underground networks would have a reasonable explanation, and it wouldn't be impossible for Mengel to have left something here.
However, at this time, Morgana actually had no deeper understanding or profound knowledge of the Eleventh Primarch.
But that was fine.
Didn't someone else?
Morgana's eyes gradually regained clarity.
She listened to Horus's intimate counting in the private communication channel and revealed a smile that would make anyone shiver.
——————
"You won."
Warmaster Horus could detect a hint of unwilling frustration in the brief remark.
He smiled.
"This isn't a very serious or formal competition, Morgana."
Horus chatted with his kin while casually strangling the three-meter-tall Randan Overlord.
"It doesn't prove anything."
Only a soft hum came from Morgana's end.
Horus continued to smile, standing in what used to be the Randan captain's chamber, watching the Luna Wolves fleet begin bombarding the alien fortresses on the ground.
"Another round?"
He asked tentatively.
A slight grinding sound came from the other end of the communication channel, seemingly indicating some thought and decision.
"Of course."
Morgana's gaze locked onto the entrance of the underground kingdom in the Sea of Souls. She spoke again, changing her tone, adding a certain undeniable imperiousness.
"This time, I choose first."
Warmaster Horus smiled.
"Of course."
He softly assented, then ended the battle that had slaughtered tens of thousands of aliens.
Warmaster Horus's chest was filled with a sense of ease; he wondered if it was his imagination, but Morgana's words seemed to instinctively relax and comfort people.
Perhaps it was her power?
Horus thought this, and he also thought of Sanguinius. The Archangel of Baal was the same; he was like a small sun, unconsciously radiating a light that drew people close and warmed them.
Truth be told, Horus even envied the Archangel's power. While he had to painstakingly navigate various social cues and interpersonal relationships, some of his kin could achieve the same with a more natural power, or simply, talent.
They were like the sun, born to attract countless worshipers.
The sun was always liked.
Whether it was bright and warm.
Or… cold.
Warmaster Horus's expression darkened.
When he saw the slaughtered Randan soldiers, he thought of another brother of his, a brother who was also like a sun, a brother who had disappeared in this war against the Randans.
He didn't know what had happened to him and his Legion.
Where was he?
Was he still alive?
Why did their father choose to remain silent about his fate?
His lost kin.
His brother.
That Primarch.
That man of miracles.
The God of War named Mengel.
That…
Golden-haired beast.
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