A Monster in Hell: A 40K Story

Chapter-22

I met Abaddon as he connected his blade to mine. A powerful echo of pure malice and hatred rushed through my body, but I was able to control myself emotionally. My trustworthy Chainsword had connected with the blade of the dreaded Drach'nyen, the End of Empires and the Echo of the First Murder. The Daemon entombed in the sword was radiating pure hatred. Pure greed. Pure malice. Abaddon struck again, and I parried, making a powerful sound, a shockwave of which cleaved the window in half, exposing us to the cold void of the cosmos. We held, both with our abilities, preventing the horrifying release of pressurized air from blowing us into space.

This, while seemingly insignificant to a being of my capacity, was actually important: it meant that I, a mortal, would have to continuously supply myself with oxygen I required to survive... unlike Abaddon, who was un-mortal. So the longer the duel continued... the longer I would be taking an actual toll keeping those Battlefleets and Titans empowered and coordinated as I wished them to. Moreover, I had to kill Abaddon like he was a mere rat, and lashing out with my full strength would crack my image and potentially even expose my upper limits to the Four. Most importantly, Abaddon must be disarmed of that Sword without breaking it, lest it unleash the cataclysmic apocalypse that rested within it, eternally raging to be released from its crypt.

And it was, at least now, impossible to kill permanently. It was connected to Mankind itself, I mused, perhaps if I find a way to break the figurative chains that bind Mankind to it... I can kill it? My thoughts ran like a particularly fast Warp-capable ship. Even as I parried more blows with Abaddon: I was empowered and had even managed to get a hang of some Precognition, but Abaddon had a ton of blessings and sorcery too, and he was physically much stronger and more experienced, so we were, as of now... even. 

"Fighting on the defensive, are you, worshipper of the Corpse-Empress?" Abaddon taunted, even as I, within my mind, called for another Titan to move slightly to the right to strike another major Daemon position. "Not so confident now, are you?"

"A man who has to say: I am confident... is not truly confident." I continued with my melee, as I directed two cruisers and an Emperor-Class Battleship to appear just behind a Black Legion Battleship, wiping it out with all its occupants. "You are so deep in your insecurity that you feel a need to vindicate yourself."

Abaddon snarled, responding a flurry of strikes and a swipe with the Talon of Horus, which I quickly avoided, which would have likely turn a Regiment inside out. He missed, before I struck back with equal force, and unlike the grace of a Space Marine, I had been a Guardsman, which meant my strikes were more ruthless, brutal... unrelenting. Abaddon parried in time.

We dueled for hours, striking at each other, Abaddon using more of his cutting childish barbs, while I responded equally calmly. Here is an example:

"For all your powers, you were merely a Guardsman. Without a charity promotion you would have been nothing."

"Well... it proves that even the most unremarkable can rise to supremacy. Teaches you a lesson that humans should not be underestimated. But you do not learn, do you?"

With every barb, Abaddon grew more livid. After all... I was striking every single sensitive part of him and then some. Slowly, surely--- Abaddon would kill himself, and the corruptive End of Empires would be shot into... somewhere completely safe, where no one would chance upon it again.

Hmm... perhaps I need to study psychic science a bit. Where do I start, though?

Abaddon was becoming essentially more susceptible to the point I could safely obliterate him.