168. The Vessel

On the other end of the battlefield, someone got restless. As soon as the large ship reached orbit, something sparked his curioustiy. It was like a scent carried on the wind, calling him to the object of his desire and Tastopheles was able to control this desire for about three minutes. Then, squelching as he did so, he abandoned his post in the formation around Abaddon and lurched over to his master.
The tall and commanding figure of the lord commander of the Black Crusade was an impressive sight. Taller than even the new Primaris Space Marines, Guilliman was deploying against him, Ezechiel Abaddon towered over the men of his honour guard even though they all wore terminator armour as did their master. His face was that of a ten-thousand-year-old, scarred mummy with a complex sigil of chaos on the forehead. The crested top knot on his shaven head made him look even taller than he already was and his eyes were dark holes into unforgiving hell. They rested on the approaching figure with the disgusted yet amused interest Abaddon found for almost anything.
“Speak!”, he demanded of Tastopheles. His psyker, the only worshipper of Nurgle in his guard, had probably been no pretty sight to begin with. After a long time serving the plague lord, he was a deformed lump of decomposing flesh. Parts of him were probably sloshing around in his armour, happily rotting away on his path to immortality. The container of his decay had so many outcrops and spikes growing out of it and so many sigils scratched on its surface that it was hardly recognizable in its form anymore.
“Master”, the psyker addressed the Despoiler and probably bowed low. Or maybe, just accidentally yielded to gravity, Abaddon was not sure. He never was with Tastopheles and he cared too little to inquire. That he remembered the man’s name was the greatest badge of honour he would win from him.
“I would like to follow a call of my nature, oh Great One”, Tastopheles asked politely.
“What has stopped you from taking a leak?”, Abaddon wanted to know casually and watched slime ooze out of a boil where the man’s eye should have been.
“Ah, you are pleased to fun with me, master”, the psyker chuckled, making a sound as if a swamp had started to boil. His smell added a lot to this picture. “But Grandfather Nurgle demands that I go on a little quest for him. I will return to you presently. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
Abaddon pierced Tastopheles with his dark eyes and then he smiled. 
“Lead on, my friend”, he said and it sounded rather unfriendly.
The psyker had not seen this coming, Abaddon could see it in the deformed remains of the rotting face in front of him. He had not told the little tit what they were here for and that he would, of course, be able to read the suddenly strange behaviour of his Nurgle cultist.
No accident had brought the Despoiler to this little backwater planet. He had gained intelligence that the Anathame, the sword that had claimed Horus and brought him to fall, had been found and that he would be able to obtain it here. This sword was a powerful artefact, infused with the might of the Plague Lord and Abaddon intended to use it to please the third god of chaos and gain a few favours, which he intended to cash in during the pursuit of his Black Crusade.
It also was no accident that Tastopheles was the only major minion of Nurgle. The other vermin had a lower chance of picking up on the artefact’s presence so soon. That his psyker started to behave oddly was something he had in fact counted on.
That this started right after these drop pods had appeared rang a small note of worry inside him, however, and he grew cautious. 
Like Guilliman, Abaddon understood very well that reinforcements for the imperial forces had arrived. The pods were too obviously aimed into the swarming masses of chaos creatures to be anything else. So, in the middle of a not yet changing tide of battle but definitely lurching fortune, the object of his desire had finally turned up.
Yet, Abaddon had put resources into this endeavour and might as well seize his chance. Guilliman’s assassins had never gotten close and a battle on a scale as large as this was astonishingly slow. Avoiding confrontation with any significant forces was almost a formality. For unpleasant surprises, Abaddon had Tastopheles who would open the warp for him to disappear into. If even this should fail, his favourite Heretek Magicos Abostrus would teleport him to the safety of the ship, he kept hidden far behind the lines. These two safeguards on top of his bodyguard of bloodthirsty fanatics were all the Despoiler needed. Sometimes, he even allowed himself to get a little reckless to please one or the other of the chaos gods. Mostly Khorne recently, but sometimes… Abaddon grinned and refrained from giving the worshipper of Nurgle a push. It was just too damned difficult to get the goo off the gauntlets again.
Tastopheles scurried away. He was quick for someone who basically moved by wobbling the liquefied remains of their feet.
While they made their way in the approximate direction of the lines, Abaddon personally kept an eye on the winged creature that had appeared in the sky. He had seen Sanguinius in flight and recognized an angel when he saw it but this one looked different from the Angel Primarch of yore. It was sleek and seemed agile even from a distance. Probably it was some kind of idol to fortify the morale of the imperial troops or something.
Right as he thought this, the creature drew a tight circle over the battlefield and came in their direction. Like the well trained watch dogs they were, his guards halted around him when he did and lifted their weapons.
“Wait for my signal”, Abaddon ordered and calmly watched the thing fly by. When it landed a bit behind them, the Despoiler realised that it was far closer than he had thought because it was much smaller than he had expected. With Sanguinius and his physique of a Primarch in mind, he had estimated this angel further away than it really was. It wore a strange, sleek armour. Black with red highlights and no crest or insignia of rank anywhere. If this was a power armour, it was of a new design he would much like to get his hands on. The gorget around the neck, however, was a standard imperial vox and the cord of a microbead leading to one ear assured Abaddon that the visitor had not come alone. The chest plate of the armour was plain and functional. No frippery or bumps to mark out breasts and the angel’s face was rather androgynous. Despite this, the Despoiler was certain that this was a woman. There was something in her movements and the way she smiled. Her long, golden blonde hair was bound back.
Somehow, this winged figure in armour was greatly appealing to Abaddon. Surrounded by half or fully naked Slaanesh daemons of all sorts and sizes whenever he wished to, he found that the prospect of someone whom he had to peel out of a few plates before he could violate them was rather exhilarating.
But the wings made him cautious. So did the woman’s smile. A smile as welcoming as this had something in mind.
“Abaddon”, she addressed him. “I see you have a few inconvenient Space Marines in your lines.”
Now, he smiled.
“I suppose I know who brought them”, he replied and gave an unobtrusive signal for his guards to fan out and surround her in a wide circle.
“Wonderful”, the angel said approvingly. “Finally, someone I don’t have to spell everything out for. So, what are your terms?”
Abaddon looked her up and down. She shifted slightly and it became apparent that she wore a sword on her back. A magnificent weapon with a golden skull on the pommel. Without crest nor insignia he could not be certain, of course, but the wings suggested that he had met someone who was intimately bound to the warp. So, he had a psyker before him and very likely a powerful one at that.
“How about I break your wings and rape you before I find out how much their saint is worth to them?”, he offered nonchalantly just to see how she would react.
The angel managed to surprise him: “A handsome offer”, she said. “I have to admit that my plans for today indeed include getting you out of that armour but I sincerely hoped that we could have a little foreplay.”
Abaddon actually was a little baffled about this. He searched for signs on her that she was lying but there were none to detect. She just grinned at him with provocative ease.
Suddenly, he was interested. Up until now, he had rated her for a soppy loyalist and they were indignant about practically anything he said all day long. That his comment had not even extracted a blush, much less made her waver, was strangely appealing and intriguing at the same time. He felt the urge to beat that out of her.
“Is that so?”, he asked, taking a step closer.
“Would I lie to you?”, she asked back provocatively.
Now, he actually had to laugh.
“I sincerely hope so!”, he said and came closer. Two more steps and he was sure he would get her before she flew away. She obviously spotted this and nonchalantly started to wander, keeping her distance while folding her hands behind her back. Intriguingly, she ignored the presence of his guards in this. 
“What fun would it be if we were honest with each other?”, Abaddon wanted to know.
“Is that all you think of?”, she mocked him confidently. “Fun? What about our gain, Abaddon?”
“Oh, I always think of gain”, he promised and followed her with his eyes for a moment. He never let himself be drawn into turning with anyone. Knowing when to move and when not to was a key to his success. Not allowing her to dictate the movement was a demonstration of his power. 
They were in a quite open spot behind the lines. Well enough shielded from the rest of the battle with no convenient rocks or bushes around for anyone to creep up on them and there was no flying vessel in sight that could penetrate his line of Hereteks. Not even Guilliman had employed artillery against them so far because he knew it was useless.
So, if this bitch had not exactly planned an orbital strike at her position, they were quite safe here.
“Well, then”, the angel said. “I offer you the chance to gain.”
“Look, little angel”, Abaddon replied, getting impatient. “You came here alone. So, you must be confident that you’re worth more to me alive than dead. Either you get to the point or I’ll decide otherwise.”
“I have seven companies for you that are being transported down to the surface by your enemy as we speak”, she said and stopped walking about just outside the reach he had estimated. “Right now, they have orders to aid their brethren. I can change that.”
“And what do you want in return?”
She lifted a finger to ask him to wait for a moment and listened to her vox. Then, she checked something behind her and smiled.
“Actually”, she proclaimed nonchalantly. “I just got what I wanted.”
Abaddon tensed
 “And what is that?”, he demanded.
“I wanted to see that ship over there rising”, she said with a dismissive gesture to where she had just thrown a look. “And I wanted to give your psyker time to run after the sword I brought.”
Abaddon did not waste time turning to check if Tastopheles was still behind him. The little weasel surely would have seized his chance to run away. He gave the signal to his guards to shoot the creature down while he yelled “Abostrus!”, into his vox. This should have resulted in him being teleported away immediately but nothing happened.
Again, he wasted no time shouting more orders into the line. He could speculate later how his safeguards had failed. His Heretek was certainly dead and his psyker was out of reach. So, the damned creature in front of him wanted to ensure he could not get away.
But she was alone and he had seen no teleport beacon on her. One woman against him and all of his honour guard? This was ridiculous! He had to work out where the real danger was coming from fast.
The shots of his men went off and Abaddon drew his sword. He heard the familiar scream of the daemon weapon, felt its howling and dragging.
Drach’nyen wanted souls. It wanted to devour and corrupt them. Once it was drawn it would feed. That was the deal they had made. Abaddon vowed that, today, it would at least feed on the soul of Tastopheles as soon as he had found the little weasel. Which would happen right after he had thrown that winged bitch to it.
A movement from the corner of his eyes made him turn and his conscious thoughts had trouble catching up with his combat reflexes, not least because he could not quite believe what he saw: The angel was springing him, her own sword in hand. 
In a corner of his mind he found his assumption from earlier confirmed. The blade had warp crystals set into it. No one but a psyker would wield a weapon like that.
He parried her strike and managed to push her away but she immediately came at him again. His men would not dare to fire into a melee with him, he knew. How the hell had she gotten out of the way of the first salve?
Two of his guards moved up to them while Abaddon took a few steps backwards and he saw the blade in her hand shining, smearing light through their bodies without stopping as it cut them clean in pieces and then, the attacker was upon him again.
Abaddon knew this fighting style she displayed. There was no finesse, no needless gestures. The blade did not travel further than it had to before it changed direction and his opponent seemed to know exactly when to do this. He had seen psykers with this ability before and they were a pain in the ass. Whatever he did, she would foresee it. All he could do was to make time work against her. Nobody could withstand the forces of the warp forever, especially if it was as unstable as here. He had to bide his time and give her enough to react to until the slut was ripped apart by her own powers.
She knew that, of course, and advanced aggressively but when she had placed one strike and locked their swords, she did something strange. She shook her free hand a couple of times and the next thing he knew was her gauntlet flying into his face. Abaddon darted back and watched in astonishment as she followed, her bare hand extended to touch his head. 
Instinctively, he pulled the blades along each other, causing a cruel, blood-curdling screech as the two sentient blades screamed at each other for blood and vengeance. At the last moment, just before her fingers made contact with his forehead, Abaddon managed to push Drach’nyen’s pommel in their way, brushing over the exposed skin of her fingers. This sword was not only dangerous because of its blade. Contact alone would cost a soul.

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Guide Me Through the Darkness by Julia M. V. Warren is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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