Chapter Fourteen: Abaddon the Undefeated

Abaddon could never understand why two gene primarchs had suddenly appeared, filling him with boundless rage—and terror.
"No, I cannot let the primarchs leave. They must not return to Terra."
Once again, Abaddon led his veteran Black Legion down onto the planet, launching a decapitation strike against the primarchs.
Truth be told, the arrival of the Travelers had shifted the balance; their endless resurrection greatly relieved the pressure on Imperial forces and made Chaos taste the dread usually reserved for demons.
Sheltered by the Travelers, Imperial troops pressed onward toward the destination spoken of by the Living Saint Celestine.
Boom! The Syrian-styled Traveler detonated himself again, his reckless assault claiming several unlucky Chaos warriors.
The Travelers, like a horde of madmen, attacked Chaos in ways no sane mind would dare imagine. They even gave Chaos the illusion that they themselves were the true agents of disorder.
In fact, Chaos was not mistaken—they were the Emperor’s demon army. Besides the Travelers, two mighty primarchs, Ming and Fulgrim, fought alongside them.
Ming, Fulgrim, and the Custodians slaughtered Chaos Space Marines amidst the Travelers, golden greatswords and flaming blades dancing among their foes, bestowing the Emperor’s grace upon them.
Fulgrim vented his fury at Chaos with every swing of his "Flameblade," which Ming had drawn from the "Market" and gifted to him. Though not as potent as the true Flameblade, it was a high-quality replica.
Back aboard the "Iron Ming Soul," Fulgrim had gazed upon Ming’s offering and remembered Ferrus Manus, slain by the original Fulgrim. Though merely a clone, he possessed all Fulgrim’s memories, and his sorrow was so deep Ming himself felt it. As he took the Flameblade, Fulgrim vowed to make the Chaos gods pay.
Each of Fulgrim’s strikes bore near-perfect elegance, like a form of art.
Ming watched Fulgrim’s graceful combat, then glanced at his own clumsy hacking, quietly resolving that after this battle he must ask Fulgrim to teach him swordsmanship—otherwise, he might not even be able to defeat the Lord of the Thirteenth.
The Travelers could resurrect infinitely, but Chaos had numbers on its side. There were only 201 Travelers, while drop pods kept crashing onto the icy wastes of Crysus, and daemon engines circled in the sky, raining fire in support of Chaos.
"For death is the path, the Emperor’s beacon, darkness shall be cleansed, steadfastness is without doubt, thus the Emperor’s blessing, prayers purify the soul, pain cleanses the body, rely on the Emperor alone, the masses are sheltered, steadfastness is innocence, striving for perfection, rest only in death…"
The Traveler clutching the "Emperor’s True Words" recited ceaselessly, his gear now a microphone and speaker strapped to his back, taunting Chaos with amplified derision. Ming even saw a faint golden glow rising from his body.
"Is this a blessing? And you claim you’re not a god!" Ming muttered inwardly, eyeing the golden shimmer on the Traveler and once again ridiculing that ancient, immortal soul.
Smack! Suddenly, to Ming’s left, a Traveler whirled through the air. Ming turned, and in the blizzard spotted the familiar towering ponytail—a sign of Abaddon, undefeated in battle, leading his veterans to decapitate the gene primarchs.