Abaddon the Despoiler - The Black Legion Forged
Abaddon unites the brotherless, shatters the dream of Horus reborn, and forges the Black Legion for the Long War.
The Fleshmarket
Amidst the chaos, Abaddon targeted a single vessel, the Fleshmarket, commanded by the Primogenitor. They boarded. Through corridors of bone-crafted horrors and alchemical abominations, Abaddon's warriors cut their way forward. Terminators advanced through bolter storms without slowing. Rubricae drowned the halls in fire.
In the Apothecarion, they found the truth. Rows of cloning vats. Not failures. Success. The Primarch Project, reborn through daemon-lore. And then, bootsteps, heavy and measured. A figure emerged bearing Worldbreaker. It was Horus.
Not a twisted child. Not a warped monstrosity. But Horus Lupercal reborn, clad in black war-plate, haloed by force fields, fury in his eyes. He slaughtered them. Worldbreaker crushed Rubricae. Warp-fire tore flesh from him, yet he endured. Warriors broke before him. Then Abaddon spoke.
"Enough." The word alone halted the Primarch. Father and son faced one another. The Talon of Horus against Worldbreaker. Horus struck. Abaddon caught the blow and crushed the maul in his claw. Recognition flickered in the Primarch's eye. "Ezekyle. My son." The Talon drove through his chest. Bolter shells detonated inside him. A god's blood fell to the laboratory floor.
As Horus died a second death, Abaddon whispered: "I am not your son." In that moment, the past ended.
The Black Legion
The Sons of Horus were already fracturing, tearing themselves apart in despair and rage. Abaddon returned to the ruins of Maeleum and saw clearly what Horus had wrought: failure. He declared Horus weak. A fool. He hunted rival captains through the ruins and broke them. Some knelt willingly. Others died.
He ordered every trace of Horus erased. The Legion repainted its armor black, the color of mourning and vengeance. The Sons of Horus were no more. They became the Black Legion. The Long War had begun.
Not all accepted him. Drecarth the Sightless led a splinter warband, the Sons of the Eye, clinging to Horus' memory. Abaddon waited. During the 6th Black Crusade, they fought together against the forge world Arkreach. Months of siege ended in victory. Amidst the ruins, Drecarth reached out in greeting.
Abaddon took his hand and drove the Talon into his gut. Drecarth lived long enough to see his warband bow before Abaddon before the Warmaster tore out his spine. A message had been sent.
Word spread through the Eye of Terror. Bow to Abaddon, and you will have a place in the war. Mockery turned into obedience. Disillusioned warriors flocked to him. Others came for slaughter. Some came because they respected only strength. Those who betrayed him were annihilated. Their heads adorned his trophies.
The Black Legion became fleet-bound, slipping through the Warp like predators. From the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit, Abaddon waged war not only against the Imperium, but against rival warlords of Chaos. He did not seek to rule the Traitor Legions by title. He sought to unite them through inevitability.
Unlike Horus, Abaddon would not kneel. He studied how both the Emperor and the Dark Gods had used his father as a pawn. He would not become another instrument. He courted the Ruinous Powers, but refused to surrender himself entirely. Why the Chaos Gods granted him such freedom remains unclear. Blood. Hatred. Destiny. Or perhaps something far darker.
What mattered was this: Abaddon endured where Horus had fallen. He crushed warbands. Seized relics. Mastered daemonic bargains. Learned the secrets of the Eye of Terror. The Black Legion grew. And across the stars, the Imperium would one day hear the same words whispered again.
Let the galaxy burn.
Closing Words
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Until next time... This was Liandrug -- and the Long War has only just begun.
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