The mysterious energy geysering from the surface of Cadia surged into the depths of space, a psychic null-pulse that rippled across the orbital battlefield. Chaos warships found their void shields failing as the Warp-energy sustaining them was violently suppressed. Seeing the opening, the Aiur Fleet did not hesitate. They realigned their defensive arrays and began a devastating counter-barrage, the Yamato Cannons spitting fire into the unprotected hulls of the Black Fleet.
Amidst the ruins of the Blackstone Fortress, Moska stared in horror at the heavens. She witnessed a sight that defied ten millennia of history: the Great Eye, that terrifying wound in reality that had bled madness into the galaxy since the first days of the Long War, was slowly, impossibly closing. "No... no, no! This cannot be!" she shrieked. The light of the Warp was being snuffed out.
On the ground, Celestine's radiance had faded to a sickly, pale hue. The golden fire was gone, replaced by a dim, flickering brass halo reminiscent of a dying servo-skull. Without the Emperor's blessing flowing through the Warp, the Living Saint was stripped of her divinity. She was weak, barely able to prop herself up with her trembling arms as she gripped the hilt of a sword that had lost its holy fire.
Abaddon, however, remained a colossus. Though the favor of the Four had been severed, he was still an Astartes—the First Captain of the old Legions, a warrior of unparalleled experience and brute strength.
He approached the slumped figure of Celestine with a savage, predatory grin. "It is over, little bird. Your Corpse-King has abandoned you..."
He was interrupted by a blur of motion. A shadow lunged into his periphery, and Abaddon barely managed to raise the Talon of Horus to parry a crushing blow.
CLANG!
The impact was so immense it forced the Warmaster to stagger back. Alexei stood before him, his golden eyes burning with a light that did not come from the Warp. He grinned with cold malice. "It seems your 'gods' have left you behind, Abaddon."
The Despoiler stared at him in disbelief. He had assumed Alexei's power, like Celestine's, was a gift from the Emperor—a psychic tether that should have snapped when the pylons activated. But Alexei had not weakened; if anything, he seemed faster, more grounded.
"You..."
"Shut up!" Alexei snapped. His power sword became a blue streak of light, lashing out with a ferocity that caught Abaddon off guard. For the first time in the duel, the Warmaster was forced into a desperate, retreating defense.
"Damned ant! Who do you think you are?!" Abaddon roared. His pride was being shredded alongside his armor. He was the Warmaster, the strongest being beneath the Primarchs, yet he was being systematically suppressed by a mortal.
His daemon-blade parried strike after strike until Alexei found a gap in the Despoiler's guard. Alexei's boot connected with Abaddon's chestplate, the force of the kick sending the giant crashing into the dirt.
Abaddon struggled to rise, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He watched as Alexei walked to Celestine's side and offered a hand. "May I borrow your blade, Saint?" Alexei asked politely.
"I... I will obey the Emperor's will," Celestine whispered, handing over the dim, white holy sword.
As Alexei took the hilt, something miraculous occurred. The residual, dormant essence of the Emperor within the blade didn't vanish; it was drawn into Alexei's body. The sword didn't glow, but the air around it began to vibrate with a terrifying frequency.
Abaddon roared and charged, a black storm of ceramite and fury. Alexei watched him come, then swung the Saint's sword in a low arc. The physical enhancement was staggering; his movements drew afterimages in the dust. Every strike from Alexei now carried the weight of a falling mountain. Abaddon found it nearly impossible to track the blade.
With a roar of focus, Alexei accelerated his perception. Using the raw power of the Star God within him, he brought the longsword down in a vertical cleave intended to split the Warmaster in two.
Abaddon's instincts, honed by ten thousand years of survival, saved him. He felt the lethality of the strike and threw his entire weight to the left.
CRUNCH.
With a muffled groan and a spray of dark blood, Abaddon's left arm—still gripping the daemon-blade—was severed at the shoulder. The limb hit the ground with a heavy thud. Abaddon looked at the man with the glowing golden eyes, and a forgotten sensation clawed at his gut: fear. It was the same cold terror he had felt when he faced the Primarch Rogal Dorn in the aftermath of the Heresy.
In that moment, the Despoiler chose survival over pride. He reached for a hidden teleportation anchor on his belt, using a burst of stored Warp-energy to tear a small, flickering rift behind him.
"A Teleportation Anchor!" Alexei shouted. He threw the Holy Sword like a spear at the retreating Warmaster. The blade pierced Abaddon's back just as he vanished into the rift, the portal snapping shut a second later.
"Damn it!" Alexei cursed, his face contorting in frustration. The arch-traitor had escaped.
He knew he couldn't dwell on it. Cadia's fate was sealed. He immediately voxed the Aiur fleet. "Prepare for full evacuation. Bring the Battlecruisers into the low atmosphere. Use the Red Romance for maximum cargo capacity. We are leaving."
Across the plains, the remaining Black Legion veterans were being hunted down by the Astartes and the rallying Cadian interior guards. The battle was winding down, but the planet beneath them was beginning to fracture.
Celestine stood up shakily. Alexei looked at her empty hands and offered an awkward, apologetic smile for throwing her weapon away. Then, his gaze fell upon the severed arm of the Despoiler, the Talon of Horus still twitching, and the blade Drach'nyen lying nearby.
"Do not touch it," Celestine warned, her voice weak. "That blade is an abomination... the first murder made manifest."
Alexei ignored the warning and picked up the daemon-sword. He gazed at the distorted, wailing faces trapped within the steel. To Celestine's horror, his eyes lit up with excitement. "So much power left inside..."
As she watched, the wailing faces on the blade began to fade. The dark, oppressive aura that had defined Drach'nyen for millennia began to drain away, absorbed into Alexei's skin. The blade that even the Emperor could not truly destroy was being hollowed out, turned into a mundane piece of iron.
Alexei exhaled a satisfied breath and tossed the now-lifeless sword to Celestine. He had taken what he needed; the weapon was of no further use to him. He considered it a fair trade for the one he had lost for her.
He pulled his own power sword from the ground and looked at the Saint, who was staring at the "daemon-sword" in total shock. "Come, we must find Lord Castellan Creed. The end is coming, and we have very little time left."
As Alexei walked away, Celestine looked up at the darkening sky. "Father... is this the savior you promised us?"