An entire Chaos fleet was wiped out by Sanguinius alone. Abaddon watched this scene in horror. The fleet he had worked so hard to assemble was completely destroyed.

Abaddon decisively chose a strategic retreat, or in layman's terms, he ran away.

You're going to hit a Primarch with your own head? You can't just shake him to death with your pigtails, right?

After Abaddon hid back in the warp and thought for a while, he decided to look for a Primarch who might be able to resolve his current predicament.

………………

Abaddon traveled through the twisting corridors of the Warp, the void whispering around him, mocking his failure.

His heart was heavy, and his mind kept replaying the invincible figure of Sanguinius and the moment when his fleet turned into ashes under the wings of the angel.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, but he felt no pain.

Anger and humiliation burned in his heart, but he knew that now was not the time to vent. He needed a plan, a plan that could turn the situation around.

"Perturabo..."

Abaddon whispered the name. The man who was once the Primarch of the Iron Warriors, now fallen into Chaos, has become a twisted and powerful being.

His character is complex and contradictory. He is both conceited and inferior, and he desires recognition but hates all authority.

Abaddon knew that Perturabo's hatred of the Emperor was deep-rooted, and that this was something he could exploit.

Passing through a realm of twisted metal and rotting flesh, Abaddon finally arrived at Perturabo's domain.

It is a huge steel fortress, its walls filled with gears, pipes and rusty mechanical devices, and the air is filled with the smell of oil and decay.

The moment Abaddon stepped into Perturabo's iron fortress, a suffocating sense of oppression filled the air.

The surrounding walls were covered with twisted mechanical devices and rotting flesh. The sound of gears turning and low roars were intertwined, as if the entire fortress was telling of endless pain and anger.

Perturabo sat on his throne of scrap iron and bone, his tall body wrapped in heavy armor engraved with blasphemous runes and cursed symbols.

His face was hidden in the shadows, only his cold eyes flashed dangerously.

"Abaddon..."

Perturabo's voice was low and hoarse, with a hint of sarcasm.

"How dare you step into my territory? It seems that your failure has made you lose your mind. Or, have you come to me for help because you have nowhere else to go?"

Abaddon suppressed his anger and looked up into Perturabo's eyes.

"Perturabo, I need your help. Sanguinius... he destroyed my fleet, and I cannot fight him alone."

Perturabo sneered, his voice full of disdain.

"You? A Space Marine? Do you think you are qualified to ask me for help? You are just a failed war lord who can't even protect his own fleet. What qualifications do you have to stand in front of me?" Perturabo sneered.

At this moment, Perturabo's eyes swept over the members of the Gastlin Terminator Guard behind Abaddon.

It was a heavily armored warrior, standing silently and loyally behind Abaddon.

Perturabo's lips curled into a cruel smile, and he suddenly stood up and grabbed a huge warhammer from beside the throne.

The hammer was covered with spikes and twisted runes, exuding a terrifying aura.

"Your men are as incompetent as you are," Perturabo said coldly, his tone full of sarcasm. "Let me help you clean up this garbage."

Before he finished speaking, Perturabo swung his hammer violently and smashed it towards the member of the Terminator Guard.

The warrior didn't even have time to react before the hammer hit his helmet hard.

The heavy armor instantly shattered under the impact of the warhammer, the helmet was smashed to pieces, blood, flesh and metal fragments flew everywhere. The warrior's body fell down weakly with a dull crash.

Abaddon turned his head sharply, a flash of anger flashed in his eyes, but he quickly suppressed his emotion. He knew that now was not the time to lose his temper.

"What a fragile toy," Perturabo said coldly, his tone full of sarcasm.

"Abaddon, your men are as incompetent as you are. Can't you even find a decent guard?"

Abaddon clenched his fists again, but he knew now was not the time to lose his temper.

He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice calm.

"Perturabo, I know your hatred for the Emperor. I do too. But here is an opportunity before us, an opportunity to destroy him once and for all."

Perturabo's eyes flickered slightly, but he still maintained a cold expression. "Oh? Tell me about it."

At this moment, a whisper was heard in the air, as if countless tiny voices were whispering in my ears.

The sound was like the friction of metal and the crawling of flesh and blood, which was chilling.

Abaddon knew that it was the voice of Vashtor, the lesser god of chaos. Vashtor, the god in charge of mechanical corruption, was full of greedy interest in all novel creations and powers.

"The Emperor of a parallel world..." Vashtor's voice echoed in the air, as if coming from all directions. "A supreme being from another reality... his power... his knowledge... how tempting..."

Perturabo's brow furrowed slightly, clearly displeased by Vashtor's intervention.

But he did not get angry, instead he looked at Abaddon coldly. "The Emperor of a parallel world? Are you sure this is not a lie you made up to survive?"

Abaddon shook his head and smiled bitterly. "I have nothing left, Perturabo. I have no reason to lie to you. If you don't believe me, you can check it yourself. But if you are willing to cooperate, we can seize this opportunity together."

Vashtor's voice sounded again, with a greedy eagerness.

"Capture him... study him... his power will be used by us... his existence will change everything..."

Perturabo was silent for a moment, then gave a low laugh.

"Interesting...really interesting. Abaddon, you may be a loser, but your proposal does arouse my interest." He stood up, his tall figure looking particularly oppressive in the dim light.

At this moment, Perturabo suddenly turned around and waved to the group of Iron Warriors officers behind him.

"You, stand in a row." His voice was cold and ruthless.

The officers looked at each other, but no one dared to disobey Perturabo's orders.

They quickly stood in a row, their faces filled with fear and anxiety.

Perturabo glanced at them, and then said coldly: "I am very disappointed with your performance in the recent mission. According to tradition, eleven draws will be used to kill."

The officers' faces turned pale in an instant, but they did not dare to resist.

Perturabo grabbed the hammer, walked to the front of the team, and counted coldly: "One, two, three..." Every time he counted to the eleventh, he swung the hammer without hesitation and hit the officer's helmet heavily.

The armor cracked under the impact of the hammer, and blood, flesh and metal fragments flew everywhere.

The other officers stood where they were, their bodies trembling slightly, but they dared not make any sound.

"This is the price of failure," Perturabo said coldly, without a trace of emotion in his tone. "Remember, your lives belong to me, and I have no need of useless waste."

"I will bring my demons and iron warriors with me," Perturabo turned around and looked at Abaddon coldly. "But remember, if you dare to play any tricks, I will make you live a life worse than death."

Abaddon lowered his head to hide the smugness in his eyes. "Of course, Perturabo. We have the same goals, and cooperation is the best option."

Perturabo waved his hand, and the air around him began to distort, interweaving the whispers of demons and the roar of steel.

He turned and walked deeper into the fortress, his voice echoing in the air.

"Get ready to go, Abaddon. Let us see how powerful the Emperor of this parallel world is."

Vashtor's voice rang out again, with an unsettling excitement. "His power...his knowledge...will all belong to us...to Chaos..."

Abaddon followed Perturabo, thinking secretly in his heart. He knew that this cooperation was full of risks, but if it succeeded, he would have the opportunity to change everything. And Perturabo... this conceited and twisted Primarch, might be the chess piece he needed.

The storms of the Warp raged around them, as if foreshadowing a greater storm to come.