Warhammer: Empire Reboot

“Every roaring demonic engine, every unextinguished dark forge, every contract that sells one’s soul in exchange for power is drawing closer to me.”

"I am the embodiment of all of this."

“I am already standing outside the gates leading to the throne.”

Vashtor stared into Abaddon's eyes.

"Now, all I need is a key."

Abaddon's lips finally curled into a long-lost malicious smile.

"Quite ambitious, blacksmith."

"Likewise, General."

Vashtor refused to back down.

"You want to win that long war that has dragged on for ages."

"You want to burn Holy Terra to the ground."

"You want the gods to need you, but you can never command them."

“We all want to tear a piece of flesh from the existing order.”

Abaddon's eyes suddenly turned cold.

"The difference is that I'm already doing it."

"And I've been sitting at the poker table the whole time."

"Yes."

Vashtor nodded.

"But in the last game, you just lost all three of your most important tools."

These words were like a knife, precisely piercing Abaddon's most vulnerable spot.

A murderous glint flashed in Abaddon's eyes.

On the newborn's left arm, Khorne's rage rose uncontrollably.

Despite the pressure, Vashtor continued:

"Impotent rage won't help you repair your warship."

“Deep-seated hatred cannot help you reforge your weapons.”

"The shame of defeat will not help you take back the Vigilant Star from Lawson."

“Abaddon, you need absolute, physical power.”

Abaddon disliked Washtor's salesman-like, confident tone.

But what he hated even more was—

That mechanical demon, he was absolutely right.

Vashtor is different from those warp monsters that only howl and scream.

He is more like a rational craftsman, a ruthless creditor, a divine monster standing by the furnace, calculating costs and benefits with ledgers.

Abaddon suppressed his anger and asked coldly:

Where is that key you mentioned?

Vashtor raised a metal knuckle that sparked with electricity.

Magdalene.

"A fortified world firmly held by the die-hard Astartes."

"Iron Angels Battle Group".

“Deep within their fortress monastery lies the first core fragment of the key I seek.”

Abaddon narrowed his eyes and gave a disdainful snort.

"A mere fragment can make you an instant god?"

"Of course not."

Vashtor readily admitted it.

"So, this is just the beginning."

"You need more."

"Yes."

"And then, you scheming iron fox, you expect me to lead the Black Legion to collect these fragments piece by piece for you?"

Vashtor's mechanical eyes stared at him without blinking.

"No, Abaddon."

"I hope you're collecting it for yourself."

Abaddon laughed out loud.

"Your words are easier said than your singing."

Just because something sounds nice doesn't mean it's fake.

The flames in Vashtor's chest gradually subsided, and he extended his metal fingers, peeling away reality bit by bit.

"Face reality, War General."

"With your current incomplete Black Legion, you won't even be able to touch a hair on Lawson's head in the short term."

The black legion lords around him had grim expressions.

Abaddon raised his hand to stop a lord who was about to draw his sword out of shame and anger.

"Go on."

Vashtor nodded in satisfaction.

"The key fragments will open a path to greater power."

"That path worked for me."

"It's valuable to you too."

"It can give you a brand new invincible fleet, unprecedented war tools, the unreserved support of the Dark Mechanicus, and a war platform far superior to the current Ark-class."

"You will gain the power to make the dark side of the entire empire tremble at your feet once again."

"And I will use this to step onto the final ladder to godhood."

"This is a win-win deal."

Abaddon stared at the beating heart of the furnace and suddenly asked:

Why did you choose to come find me now of all times?

"Because you failed."

Vashtor's answer was brutally blunt.

"A person who has just tasted the bitterness of defeat is more willing to calm down and listen to the details of the transaction."

"If you're in victory, your arrogance will make you feel like you own the entire galaxy."

"You never even look at me properly."

"But right now, you are very clear-headed. You know what you have lost. You also know what you lack."

Abaddon stared intently at him.

"Aren't you afraid that I'll accept the Ark of Doom, then immediately turn on you and tear your steel shell to shreds?"

Vashtor deployed its massive metal wings.

"You can try it, I don't mind."

The moment the words fell, all the Black Legion weapons around the altar simultaneously issued high-risk alarms.

Abaddon clearly sensed that this mechanical demon demigod was extremely powerful.

But he still hasn't become a god.

As long as he hasn't become a true god, it means that he can be killed.

Abaddon turned his gaze to the far reaches of the warp.

The direction of the warning star has no fixed coordinates in the chaotic void.

In his entire life, he had never hated anyone so clearly or so intensely.

Even when facing the false emperor sitting on the golden throne, he never felt this pure killing intent.

Abaddon looked at Vashtor again.

“You just said you would provide me with an advance payment for the transaction.”

A rare, almost fanatical smile appeared on Vashtor's mechanical face.

"I can reforge a set of divine weapons for you in the darkest furnace of the universe."

"A set of weapons that are more suitable for your current body."

"And the mark of the Four Gods that remains on your severed arm."

Abaddon's eyes instantly darkened.

"You want to touch my body?"

Vashtor stared directly at the war commander who was on the verge of going berserk.

"Stop fooling yourself, Abaddon."

"Your body has already been touched by the gods, War General."

Abaddon suddenly laughed.

"it is good."