More and more eyes turned to the sudden appearance of the interstellar warriors.
These warriors, cloaked in flames, positioned themselves before the Chaos Marines, unwavering in the face of incoming fire, instinctively sidestepping as they counterattacked. They hadn't emerged from dimensional rifts or been deployed through warp teleportation; rather, they materialized on the battlefield, as if ghosts summoned to manifest from thin air.
One squad surged forward with a speed surpassing that of Grey, firing as they ran to clear a path straight toward Abaddon. Grey's gravity shield remained activated, and though he considered deactivating it to avoid injuring the flaming warriors nearby, he discovered another fiery warrior racing past him unaffected by the shield.
This warrior charged toward a Black Legion lieutenant attempting to intercept Grey, smashing aside the lieutenant's power sword with a blazing bolter. Grey paid no heed to the origins of these spectral allies; his focus lay solely on his target.
Abaddon was a mere ten meters away.
Grey activated bullet time.
His bio-processor sent electric signals through his bio-spine, accelerating his senses a hundredfold. Though objective time remained normal, to Grey, everything moved at a crawl. He could see every arc of flying bolter shells with crystalline clarity.
"Sor…lac…" Sven bellowed Solax's name in a furious roar, swinging his axe at Solax, who retreated swiftly to evade the Wolf Lord's strike. Grey altered his course, running behind Solax to deliver a sudden thrust, before resuming his charge toward Abaddon.
Saar was also aiming for Abaddon, his Eldar agility surpassing the rest, but even he couldn't outpace a bolter round. A shell lay directly in his path, and he had yet to notice. Grey surged forward to knock him aside and continued his sprint through the Black Legion ranks, cutting through Abaddon's chosen to finally confront the warlord.
Just as Grey closed in, he saw Abaddon's twisted, tormented blade glint ominously.
The gravity shield deactivated two milliseconds later.
The Warlord had waited, striking with the demonic blade. His dreadlocked mane whipped with the motion, strands cutting through the air. Grey deftly evaded the blade's edge and gripped his chainsword, aiming for Abaddon's neck. But before the teeth of the chainsword could sink into flesh, Grey's bio-processor signaled injury—his sword arm deflected, allowing only a strike to Abaddon's arm.
Bullet time ended, and reality snapped back into place.
"Vermin!" Abaddon, now missing an arm, seethed with fury, swinging his demonic blade to cleave Grey. Grey raised his chainsword to parry, but the cursed blade effortlessly tore through it.
As he faced near dismemberment, Grey was teleported to the battlefield's far edge.
"What…" Grey looked down to see Abaddon's gauntleted arm—the Horus Claw—embedded in his chest, piercing adamantium ribs to seize a fusion reactor.
His bio-processor replayed and analyzed the fight.
The gravity shield had reactivated less than a microsecond after deactivation, failing to crush Abaddon only due to the psychic power unleashed by the demonic sword. Abaddon's sword swing had been a mere feint; he had punched along Grey's attack path, anticipating his movements perfectly.
When the analysis concluded, the combat system rated Abaddon as Grey's most formidable opponent yet in skill and experience.
"Indeed, impressive," Grey muttered, stowing his shattered chainsword and using a laser shotgun to shatter the arm embedded in his chest. The Horus Claw remained lodged within, but he felt no pain; there was no time to extract it.
Grey lifted his gaze to meet Abaddon's. This encounter made him realize that his combat experience fell far short of Abaddon's; even with bullet time, he had only managed to take an arm. Nothing more.
Understanding that he lacked the skill to overcome Abaddon without sacrifice, Grey steeled himself. To achieve his mission, a cost had to be paid. A clean assassination, followed by an escape, was wishful thinking. Mutual annihilation—this, perhaps, was the only path.
So be it.
"Again," Abaddon challenged, lifting his demonic blade to Grey.
Abaddon's chosen closed ranks around their master, each an elite warrior sworn to prevent Grey from reaching the Warlord a second time. Grey rose, engaging his jet pack and hurtling toward Abaddon at tremendous speed.
The lieutenants charged to meet him as well. Though the Custodes lacked the sheer bulk of the Space Marines, their smaller stature made them nimble, cutting through the battlefield like unstoppable phantoms.
"Cover him!" shouted Phoros, drawing his power spear from a corpse and signaling a squad nearby to follow. Grey, however, glanced back at Phoros in silent understanding. They had fought together before, and Phoros quickly grasped his intent.
Six terminator-clad Weepers gathered beside Phoros, led by their chapter master, flanking from another angle to support Grey's advance.
Intercepted by Abaddon's chosen, Grey continued forward, detaching from his power armor as he went. The armor, animated as if alive, remained in the fray, fighting on like a Custodes' ghostly shadow. While pressing ahead, Grey removed the fusion reactor from his lower spine, hurling it forward.
The moment it hit the ground, the reactor detonated, incinerating everything within a ten-meter radius. Abaddon's chosen were reduced to ash, armor and flesh alike, and Grey along with his power armor were engulfed in flames.
When the blaze subsided, the Custodes armor emerged, still advancing with its master. It began clearing a path.
Grey survived, charging forth from the flames with scorched synthetic skin and exposed metal bones—a burning iron skeleton, relentless in his pursuit.
Grey was but one element of this vast and chaotic battlefield.
Flaming, ghostly Space Marines, lupine creatures tearing through flesh, terminator-clad Weepers renowned for their ruthless poverty but now armored in full, a blazing iron skeleton hurtling toward Abaddon, and power armor fighting autonomously like an extension of its wearer—all this unfolded before Inquisitor Greyfax.
"What manner of monsters are these…"