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"All your actions are within the predictions of the gods."

“The newborn god will ascend to the divine position through trials and tribulations, and everything you do brings Him one step closer.”

"So, have the Four Gods given you new orders?"

"The Destructive Power never needs to give orders; everything we do is under their watchful eye."

“One Primarch is enough to say a lot, but how can I trust you?”

"You don't need to believe it. You're already in the game. The gods will place the pieces in the right positions, Abaddon."

"I am the true War General of Chaos."

"Everyone knows that there is only one true War Master, and that is your genetic father—Horus."

You will see him...

"What do you mean!? My father!? Where is he!?"

Abaddon's voice echoed across the bridge of the Vengeance Souls, but no one answered him anymore.

Apart from Abaddon, no one on the entire bridge knew what had happened.

"Warmaster, Frikan Malhoth has arrived!" A Black Legion Terminator wielding a massive power axe strode across the bridge and knelt before Abaddon, reporting to the awe-inspiring Chaos Warmaster in a low and respectful tone.

Abaddon turned his head slightly, withdrawing his gaze from the astonishingly large Chaos fleet outside the porthole.

There were as many as thirty battleships there, which stretched across the void like steel behemoths, exuding a chilling aura; while the smaller and more agile ships swarmed around the battleships like bees, densely packed and countless.

Such a magnificent sight moved even the battle-hardened Abaddon, who felt a strong sense of admiration for the talent.

Although Frikan Malhoth belonged to the Legion of Word Bearers, Abaddon was confident that he could successfully recruit this ambitious man into the Black Legion's ranks, provided he had the means and strategy.

“Let him come over,” Abaddon said softly, his voice carrying an undeniable authority.

The Terminator accepted the order and left. A short while later, Frican Malhodes appeared on the bridge.

He wore a black power armor suit embroidered with evil runes symbolizing the power of chaos.

On Frikan Malos's broad and resolute face were densely covered with devout prayers to the gods of chaos.

These mysterious symbols and lines intertwine, seemingly forming a bizarre yet powerful painting.

His eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, were like two dark and deep ancient wells, making it difficult for anyone to see into the depths of his heart.

Frikan Malhos strode up to Abaddon, stopped, and knelt down on one knee.

In the instant he lowered his head, Abaddon keenly caught a glimpse of ambition flashing in his eyes.

This ambition is not a superficial desire, but a deep-seated, carefully concealed, and fervent aspiration.

However, how could Abaddon, the Warmaster of Chaos, be easily deceived by others? Over ten thousand years of warfare had honed his keen insight into people's hearts, and very few could escape his scrutiny.

“Very well, Frikan Malhos.” Abaddon’s lips curled into a barely perceptible smile. “Your fleet will fight alongside my army to destroy Cardia and utterly tear the false emperor’s kingdom apart!”

Upon hearing this, Frikan Malos raised his head, a hint of excitement flashing in his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure and replied firmly, "As the War Commander commands!"

Abaddon nodded in satisfaction. Far from being disgusted by the ambition displayed by Vrican Malhos, he was quite pleased.

Because he knew that only ambitious people were easy to control and exploit.

If this ambition can be skillfully guided and used to one's advantage, then winning over Frikan Malhos from the Legion of the Word Bearers will no longer be difficult.

However, for Abaddon, what he needs to do now is destroy Cardia, and to this end, he has gathered the Chaos fleet that has been plundering in various places.

"Commander, we have received a communication from the Iron Warriors Legion." Just as Abaddon was envisioning the future, his subordinate interrupted him.

“Take it,” Abaddon said, frowning.

The person on the other end of the communication was not any of the Iron Warriors company commanders he knew, but the Iron Warriors' genetic prototype—Peturabo.

Accompanying him were a large number of warships of the Dark Mechanicus, as well as the flagship of the Iron Warriors—the Steel Blood.

"Son of Horus, I need your fleet now." Perturabo's arrogant gaze swept directly over Abaddon, completely disregarding this so-called "Chaos Warmaster." He spoke in an unquestionable tone, directly demanding the fleet that Abaddon had painstakingly assembled.

Faced with such an impudent request, Abaddon felt a surge of anger, but he knew he couldn't act rashly at this moment.

So, suppressing his anger, he tried to keep his voice calm as he asked, "Then, esteemed sir, could you tell me what kind of arduous task you intend for us to undertake?"

Upon hearing Abaddon's question, Perturabo stared intently at Abaddon with his cold and sharp eyes, making the latter feel a chill run down his spine.

However, just as Abaddon thought the other party was about to get angry, Perturabo suddenly raised the corners of his mouth slightly, revealing an inscrutable smile, and said softly, "Interesting... very interesting."

As he spoke, he raised one hand and gestured as if drawing some kind of mysterious pattern in the air.

After a moment, Perturabo lowered his arm and announced expressionlessly, "This fleet will continue to launch a fierce attack on Cardia, but from now on, I will personally take command!"

Upon hearing this, Abaddon felt a tightness in his chest, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

You have to understand that he spent countless hours and effort to gather these fleets together. Now that his command has been so easily taken away, how could he not feel frustrated and resentful?

However, circumstances forced him to act against his will. Despite his extreme dissatisfaction, Abaddon could only watch helplessly as Perturabo quickly took command of the Chaos Fleet and began issuing a series of orders without mercy.

The soldiers from other legions naturally obeyed Peturabo's orders without hesitation, and no one paid any attention to Abaddon, whose face was ashen.

Only the veterans who belonged to the Black Legion, perhaps out of old friendship, would occasionally come to ask for his opinion.

Even so, Abaddon clearly understood that, whether in the Empire's camp or among the Chaos forces, the appeal and influence of a Primarch was far beyond what an ordinary Astartes warrior could match.

Frican Marlos remained on the bridge, looking rather grim, and Peturabo, similarly ignoring him, went straight to giving orders to his fleet.

"You've gone a bit too far." Another voice suddenly rang out in the channel, interrupting Peturabo's fleet deployment.

Sensing the other Primarch's psychic power, Perturabo clicked his tongue; he had no interest in dealing with charlatans.

"The Legion of Word Bearers, come to my side." The Primarch of the Legion of Word Bearers—Logar—and his flagship, the Law of Faith, led a large number of Word Bearers warships to this place.

The warships of the Word Bearers Legion turned without hesitation to join Lorgar's fleet, while the Iron Warriors formed their own fleet on the other side of the Word Bearers Legion.

Abaddon's assembled Chaos ships are positioned between the two, and their number of capital ships is not much less.

"Father, where are you?" Abaddon, who had regained command, slumped in the captain's seat, showing none of the integrity expected of a "Chaos Warmaster".