Abaddon was running. He, the great Abaddon the Despoiler, commander of the Planet Destroyer, chosen of the Dark Gods, inheritor of the weaklings Horus and his corpse-daddy False Emperor, was fleeing from Cadia, which rightful should have been his. It wasn't like he wasn't the Gods' favorite anymore, at least of those that mattered, at least until now, although they obviously blamed him for this. Even with his relative failings, he had been obedient as he could without bending his knees to them, he had listened to them, enacted plans and crusades as they commanded, brought them victory only he and They knew. After all his struggle, all his sacrifices (in all senses of the word), when he was so close, it was almost tumbling around him. And the worst part was he was forced to run closer to the Eye's center, to that pink trollop's hidden world, which itself began to move out of their galaxy, dragging a few of its important worlds that it would not part from, with it.
Where had he gone wrong?
Maybe it was not consulting with the Gods when envisioning his ritual. It had seemed so sweetly ironic at the time, that he consulted only with lesser beings and only on the how, not on the what happens after? In fairness, he didn't care if it wouldn't exactly go to plan, he knew he could survive just about anything and worst case scenario, something would swallow Cadia or at least a big chunk of it and he'd be free of a wretched world and its steadfast inhabitants. Oh, he hoped he'd birth a God, his ego had no doubt he could and would do it, but nothing rivaling the Four. After all, Gods came and went all the time, and they were just concepts anyway. The line between Gods and Daemons was sometimes blurred, the difference being that Gods were beings made from and for their own concepts, while Daemons usually answered to and were created by their greater patrons, the Gods. But Gods would sometimes fill the role and even take the name of Daemons and serve the Gods, while Daemons and even mortals would try to ascend to greater Daemonhood or even Godhood. It was basic knowledge of the warp, and he had hoped this new Godling would just take out of the equation many Space Marine chapters and especially bitter veterans where Chaos usually could not. Even better (and expected, wrongfully, again), turn them against the Imperium, sow even more Chaos into it to be ripe for the picking by Abaddon.
But Gods had a mind of their own, and he neglected to take this obvious note into consideration.
Where had he gone wrong?
He had been impatient with his plan, yes, but he didn't have to ask the Gods about everything that he did, most things panned out and usually, when he had something that he considered of little importance that he didn't ask the Gods about, but that it meant more, he was advised. They came to him, warp it all, they should have seen this. They should have warned him.
Where had he gone wrong?
At first, it seemed to have worked better than expected. The darkness first engulfed Cadia, then spread in both directions. At the time, he didn't care if the Eye was swallowed up by more energy, and this was black, beautiful energy, like his Black Legion, not that gay pink of Slaanesh. Although not visible to the eye, he saw it spread through the Imperium, the echo of turning mortals and Astartes alike music to his ears. But something was wrong. Fortresses were made in seconds in the warp. The Gods yelled and screamed and screeched... against this new creation. They even called it Anathema, although the golden light of the False God Emperor shone in his realm and didn't merge with this new entity. Where the beautiful red sea swelled up and down, the darkness formed an island that... didn't let it in? It didn't feed on the souls of the Great Anihilator, not on the suffering, not on the screaming. It looked sick by this display, for it wanted only the strong. But not like Khorne, it did not care if they used axes or magicks, only that they stood against the madness and it they didn't enjoy the killing. Didn't enjoy the screaming. Not that it didn't give them the right to enjoy it, but it found it needless. As long as they did their duty for it, they could enjoy anything they wanted. As long as they stood steadfast when the enemy came, they could do anything after, to anyone but their allies. They should have allies, not comrades. Camaraderie was overrated and irrelevant, it thought. Duty mattered. Stopping the tide mattered. It didn't matter what tide. The Tyranids', the Necrons', the Warp's, the Imperium's, the Tau's. The tides of the enemy would break on their shoals.
Abaddon had been both repulsed and in awe of this mentality. On the one hand, it hardly fit the "Chaos standard". On the other, what "Chaos standard" could really exist? And more importantly, it had power. As static in a changing warp as it was, Abaddon was already rolling the possibilities in his head. He had already felt the existent turns and the future ones, and it was staggering. Amazing. Not since the Great Crusade, and lesser still than this, the repention crusade to the Eye of Terror, had Chaos such a boon of turncoats. Without the Imperial Fists, Holy Terra would be twice as easily to break, even with their defenses still in place. And so much inside information! Imperial Fists joined together in a great crusade with Iron Warriors! Magnus no longer brooding on his throne, but with his forces intact - almost doubled even - and grateful, grateful, to a power of Chaos! Half the fucking Ultramarines come to make and consolidate a new chaos empire in the eye! Magnificent, truly magnificent. Most of the Dark Angels turned, the Lion waiting for revival and to work under the one true Warmaster. Cadians. Kriegans. Eldar warriors. Tau. All under one dark banner. And more, and more, so much more...
But something was wrong. The energy was not welcoming him, it was trying to eat him. To destroy him utterly, like the Corpse Emperor had destroyed the weakling Horus.
Yes, destroy the weakling! Destroy the coward!
Abaddon blinked. What?
Then he heard the other voices, those of his Gods, of the Greater Daemons that he could call as his closest companions. They were overwhelming now and sent shivers through his spine.
Run, you fool! Run!
Run?! From his hour of success? Surely they must be jesting. So this upstart wanted to defy their reign, as Slaanesh did. So what? What did it matter to him? What would it gain from his destruction? Surely any creature of Chaos should know that he fought for his own and for Chaos Undivided. If this new God even won, then so what? Chaos was still Chaos, whoever ruled it, as the Imperium was still the Imperium after the Emperor's Death, the Tau Empire the same after an Aun's death and so on. Surely generals were needed in any regime and would stay the same, even if the rulers changed?
His old Gods' voices had a matter of urgency, contempt and panic to them.
Run, you fool! It doesn't care about your achievements! It cares about its own ideals and it thinks you broke them! You did the worst crime on it, you woke it up! You made it and now it comes for your blood! Did you not learn anything from the Eldars' folly? The God you make it not grateful to you, it always wants more. You have offended it by your mere existence and deeds of past that you are so proud. Run, you fool, you are still needed for us, but for it you are but the worst offense it could see. Run and continue to live for us! Not even Horus was worth for us to fight and keep the tide, but we will for you. Don't make our efforts wasted.
Between the warning, the goading, the insults, the prayers and even being acknowledged as Horus' better in the eyes of immortal creatures, Abaddon woke from his reverie. Abaddon was no fool. He saw the creature engulfing Cadia not to subdue it, but to give the Cadians better ground for fortification. To reward their valor. To reward the grimness of their lives. That was the primary reason at least. The secondary was to destroy Abaddon.
Abaddon ran, his Terminator protectors at his heels. He barely made it to the drop ship when the darkness engulfed the area he'd been running from. Claws of darkness were reaching for the ship and for his head, and he heard the voice of the new being answering his unasked questions.
Why? Because you are weak. Because you are a coward. Because you have been running around doing Tzeentchian plots that lead nowhere instead of a full-head on attack on your enemies. Because you ran 13 times, Abaddon. 13 of the most important times, and I cannot even count the other less important ones you ran. Probably the most important one was leaving Terra itself. You could have took advantage of the Emperor's near-death and the confusion and the mourning and taken the Palace. You could have had it all, Abaddon. You dare throw that failure on Horus? Horus merely died. The weaklings and cowards abandoned him. But you? You yet lived, and you ran. You can't even be congratulated for keeping the Eye a domain of Chaos, for it is not through your deeds that the tide washes away from and into worlds. It is through the whim of your betters, and when Chaos worlds emerge from the Eye's storms, you do not even bother to fortify them. To deny them to your enemy, be it Imperial, Ork or other creature.
You are not my Champion, Abaddon. Despoiler. Weakling. Dog of the weak, the colored and the cowardly. Dog of the old, the decrepit, the status-quo worshipers.
You are but a mutt to be put down.
And so Abaddon ran, to the bosom of those who still found him useful, to the worshipers who saw him a God among men. But beyond that, he felt something he had not felt in millennia, at least not this strong. A knot of fear, which he would have dismissed if it hadn't resonated from his patrons themselves, those who had rescued him, fought for him, maybe even risked their foothold for him. No, he corrected himself, only for themselves, for they knew they needed a Champion of their own of whose loyalty they could be certain of, now more than ever. Not against the Imperium, but against the abomination he had created.
And through all the evil laughs of his retinue on how he had created the doom of the Imperium, of how the Godling had bowed to him and Abaddon had left it to its own devices to bring the hammer of Chaos on the weaklings Imperium - he barely suppressed a flinch at the word - through the chanting of the Chaplains and cultists about the inevitability of everything falling to Abaddon's feet, through the silence of his Terminator retinue who knew these were all lies yet had still fought off Grimdark's influence and kept their loyalty to Abaddon (for how long? he wondered), one question repeated in his mind, never truly finding the answer he was looking for.
Where had he gone wrong?
Where had he gone wrong?
Where had he gone wrong?
Where...
Author's Note: I'm writing at this pace because I'm on a roll and I want to write it down while it's clear in my head.