Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 793 Who killed Saint Gilles?
"You shouldn't be here. You've trespassed."

The blond photographer slowly, very slowly, like a puppet running out of oil, turned his head and raised his eyes.

Yes, she wasn't mistaken about the voice.

The tall figure that suddenly appeared behind her was indeed Ezekiel Abaddon.

But that doesn't seem to be Ezekiel Abaddon.

The chief platoon leader was muscular and extremely strong, like a mixed-breed mastiff with bulging muscles, which made him even more eye-catching when paired with his Terminator armor.

But even in the Council of Four Kings, he was not the tallest.

She remembers this very clearly; there's no way she could be mistaken.

But Abaddon before us...

Yufa pulled her head back with all her might, took a step back, and still had to tilt her neck completely back to get her gaze on that eerily pale face.

Even wearing Terminator power armor, this height is... too tall. In fact, considering Euphrates' height, Abaddon's height may even exceed that of some Primarchs...

No, that's not right.

She squinted, almost frantically searching for every detail on the face that was slowly lowering its head to look down at her.

No, Abaddon's eyes weren't gold! They were the sea pine green of the son of Horus!
Is this person, with a face as pale and terrifying as a corpse, with morbidly fanatical golden eyes and a strange eight-pointed star pattern etched on his forehead, really Azekael?

Then she suddenly realized that the gold-trimmed black armor worn by the chief platoon leader was not the Gastalin Terminator she had initially thought it to be.

Her gaze slowly descended, taking in the ominous and menacing spikes adorning the power armor, the etched skull, the heretical-looking tubing and shape modifications, and the larger golden eight-pointed star relief encircling the skull in the center of the belt.

An unclean force and pure malice were radiating out in ways she didn't understand, stinging her eyes.

"what are you doing here?"

The terrifying behemoth with Abaddon's face opened its mouth, and its voice was still Abaddon's, but the strong smell of preservatives and biochemical agents made her cough.

"Who are you?" She swallowed hard, trying to maintain her dignity. "And what are you doing here?"

The other party did not answer her, but slowly raised its right hand, which was equipped with a huge power claw.

“Traitor,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She looked over and was immediately captivated by the size of the weapon on his right hand and the terrifying aura it exuded.

On the claw of this weapon, which was imbued with violence and fused with some kind of subspace power, a drop of bright red blood fell, hit the ground, and shattered into eight petals of a scarlet flower.

A scorching wind, carrying the death and destruction of countless time and space, blew into her nostrils and lungs.

And so she saw it all: the entire world's inhabitants turned into pools of blood and hills of skulls; she saw billions of inhabitants of an entire subsector become walking corpses, eternally worshipping the rain-bringing god in the swamps; she saw wizards making the chaos even more unpredictable, seizing their desired piece of destiny from the chaos; she saw bodies twisted, genes contaminated, neither mortals nor Astartes spared, countless monsters that could not even appear in nightmares devouring ordinary humans, feeding on them and even Astartes.

She saw planets subjected to extinction orders, she saw human empires slaughtering each other; she saw Terra fall, and the galaxy burn.

Finally, when she looked at the leaders who stood on the clouds, their greedy grins evident as they attacked the last walls of the palace, she saw the sons of Horus, the spirits of vengeance she knew so well.

They discarded their pearly white attire, adopting the black and gold of the destructive smoke as their new skin. Bloodthirsty flames, the wails of the dead, and the resentful ghosts surrounded them. The leader, though his face was distorted by chaos, could not conceal his noble features: wide-set eyes and a straight nose.

She had unconsciously held her breath, tears welling up in her eyes, and she paid no attention to Abaddon, who stood before her like a demon incarnate of the Primarch.

Until she saw clearly the soulless face of the fallen Horus Lupecal, and the weapon in his right hand—exactly the same as the claw in Azeroth's right hand—no, it was the same weapon!
Horus's powerful claws were still stained with the blood of his victims, which had not yet dried, while on his other hand, the Worldbreaker was also covered with the fragments of flesh and blood of his victims.

Suddenly, her gaze froze on the nails of the Worldbreaker.

She could hear the sound of blood pulsating in her heart being amplified infinitely in her eardrums.

The Worldbreaker and its power claw had fragments of some kind of golden armor and a few... golden... curled strands of hair...

In a flash, she suddenly realized what kind of damage these two weapons could cause, and who these two weapons had killed and destroyed.

Whose blood was that? What had caused the wound she saw? Now she understood the answer to her angry questions about who had done it.

Who killed Saint Gilles?
Who could possibly have the ability to kill the invincible Saint Gilles in close combat?

Who destroyed my flagship? Who murdered my brothers? Who possesses such dark and powerful forces that neither Saint Gilles nor my offspring could come to prepare his remains?
The questions that filled with sadness and anger that day have now received the most terrifying answers.

"No—!!!!" she screamed shrilly. "This can't possibly happen!!!! I don't believe it! This is a lie! This is a deception! I could never succumb to darkness! I could never kill my own brother with my own hands!!!!"

As she uttered those words, the twisted Abaddon opposite her also showed surprise for the first time. It opened its mouth, filled with gray-white teeth, about to howl or warn something in the void—

The sound of flapping wings suddenly rang out from the photographer's hand, and a white shadow that flew by at lightning speed transformed into some kind of behemoth in an infinitely short instant, swallowing the demon responsible for guarding this hidden temple whole.

And so all this madness vanished like smoke and a dream, and the temple returned to its peaceful darkness.

The skeletons hanging from the ceiling still watch the living's dramatic spectacle with their smoking eye sockets.

Where is the Primarch-like Abaddon now?

Only the large, open book remained on the altar table, though only a few pages had been turned.

Everything seemed to have happened in less than a second.

Euphrates Kira let out a choking gasp, then collapsed to her knees with a thud.

No.

It was not Euphrates Qile.

Horus Lupecal, driven by a careless but intense desire, shed his laurel wreath and successfully transferred his existence into the body of the unusual female photographer. He knelt on the ground of the temple of the other gods, weeping bitterly.

(End of this chapter)