The Emperor’s Angel of Death

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Looking at War Commander Abaddon standing with a sword, Gar Mozejie gritted his teeth, knowing that things couldn't be better, so he could only stand up and whisper:

"That's offended, Warmaster."

Before the words were finished, Gar Mozejie had already rushed forward and swung down the witch sword.

While his opponent deftly evaded, ignoring the spark of disintegration that fell on the armor, Gar Mozejie had never seen someone so sensitive wearing a Terminator.

never--

And more importantly, the Terminator armor worn by Abaddon greatly strengthened his physical strength. Gar Mozejie had to hold the weapon in both hands to receive the heavy blow from the opponent's huge armor.

That's enough to make him struggle.

The weapons collided again, and then Gar Mozejie turned away from the opponent, moving cautiously, trying to find the holes in the opponent's perfect defense.

"By the way, what's wrong with you?"

Abaddon asked suddenly, glancing at Gar Mozej's clumsy limbs and weird armor plates.

Gar Mozejie remained silent and kept his concentration.

He slashed with hatred in his gesture, intending to take Abaddon by the neck.

The Warmaster retreated, avoiding the blow, and immediately attacked with his sword.

"You move like a machine."

Abaddon then taunted, dancing back into melee range with a storm of blows.

"I've killed a lot of people like you, but they fought more like a warrior than a... crippled!"

This sentence really stabbed the pain in Gar Mozejie's heart. The mutated limb did give him some strength, but more often it gave him a strange and uncomfortable feeling, which caused him to look a bit like a limb when he moved. A disabled person, which also made Zhan Gang have a lot of jokes about him.

"The Warp hates us."

Gar Mozejie grumbled, beginning to realize that he was losing.

"Yeah, we all are."

They rammed together again, taking the blow with their armor, and the swords bounced off each other.

Gar Mozejie smashed his blade, missed his target by just an inch, and then he had to defend, barely avoiding the edge of the longsword.

He took a step back and opened up the space.

"But I'm not sick."

Suddenly, the words came out of Gar Mozejie's lips almost uncontrollably.

Illness, this is the name of the various mutations and self-destruction displayed by the renegade soul drinkers against the war gang. Many people are now more like beasts than humans. the ever-deepening **** of self-deprecation.

Abaddon laughed, in a cruel voice.

"Maybe not yet, but sooner or later, I have seen too many characters like you. In the end, I can only survive on the leftovers left by the gods, and the ending is nothing more than a lunatic or a chaos egg."

Gar Mozejie continued to retreat, allowing his enemies to press closer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Terminators standing motionless, seemingly oblivious to what was happening, like statues.

"I will never give in, I will fight to the end."

Abaddon grunted contemptuously from his tight lips, the sword blurring like a veil around his armored figure.

Then, the two swords collided again, making a fierce collision sound.

"Struggle? Do you understand what resistance is? Fighting is breaking fate and pursuing something greater! You have been gifted with talent, but you are too simple to fight for something that has passed - the old legion? Don't be kidding, there is nothing in front of you except Fetters are nothing else."

The weapons swirled around each other, weaving, stabbing, and beating.

"However, for us, the shackles are gone."

Gar Mozeje had been pushed to the edge of the bridge, and he felt his remaining muscles tense and sweat dripping from the inside of his neck armor.

His foes were faster, stronger, sharper, wielding the longsword as if it had no weight.

He hated himself so much at this time—

He should have been faster, he should have been stronger.

"So why would you feel a sense of belonging to a Legion that never existed?"

Abaddon pressed, with genuine curiosity.

"You haven't even seen the Primarch."

Gar Mozej began to breathe, the sword became as heavy as a piece of lead in his hand, and he was now taking the attack—off-centre attacks that nibbled and disintegrated in the gaps in his defenses.

"I made an oath."

Abaddon laughed again.

"The oath! The warp takes oaths all the time."

Abaddon said in a cruel but sincere tone:

"Stop talking about things you don't understand at all."

Saying that, he used that thing for the first time—

Claw of Horus.

In fact, Gar Mozejie had been wary of this thing before. When he first encountered Abaddon, he was very afraid of this thing. He could see the echo of death entrenched between its curved claws like fog. The glare of this psychic energy has attracted countless unformed monsters, they are praying to this divine soldier, they whisper their love to it, and praise its power to change the future path with inhuman whispers.

In many ways, this giant claw has the same "smell" as Abaddon's Draknion, dazzling and disgusting.

And great power.

"You're just a bereaved dog abandoned by the Empire, don't put gold on your face with the Lost Legion's sign, it'll just make you look extra funny."

In the next second, the giant claws knocked away the sword that Gar Mozejie was blocking like a battering ram, stuck it in the claw blade, snatched it from Gar Mozejie's hand, and threw it into the distance.

Gar Mozejie shivered, his eyes widened, saliva glued into crooked threads between his teeth.

"I'm not a lost dog!!!"

Roaring, he actually hit Abaddon directly.

This move caused the surrounding Terminators to raise their guns at the same time.

But Abaddon directly slapped his body, then threw the long sword in his hand smoothly, grabbed Gar Mozejie's throat with his bare hands, and lifted him up with the roar of the hydraulic joints of the Terminator armor.

Gar Mozejie's limbs were forced off the ground, and his breathing was unsustainable. Although Astarte could endure the long-term lack of oxygen, when he looked into Abaddon's contemptuous eyes, he still suspected that he would die. suffocated.

"You're full of hatred right now, right? Hatred of your own weakness."

Gar Mozejie blushed, then gritted his teeth and said:

"As long as I don't die today! One day I will be stronger than everyone!"

"Very well, it seems that you have realized something."

Suddenly ~www.readwn.com~ Abaddon released his hand, then turned and stared out the observation window.

"You are valuable now, your hatred is a kind of nourishment, and over time may be able to form a force against fate... That's it, I agree, I will send an envoy to explain it on Huron's side, no My help, the red pirate can't bear the pressure of the empire, he has always asked me for help, but those ships still have to be returned to him, and I will give you new ships later, but you have to remember, I value It's not your ridiculous legion, it's you, and your hatred."

Gar Mozejie stood up and bowed humbly.

"Understood, thank you, Commander."

"Okay, you go down."

Abaddon waved his hand behind his back, and Gar Mozejie immediately exited the bridge.

And the Chaos War Commander stared at the crazy colors outside, looking a little uneasy.

"Eleventh Legion, Soshyan..."