Abaddon - Killing a Primarch: As the Vengeful Spirit rose higher into orbit, the first ships rose from the battered surface of Harmony. They came without formation or order, fleeing their doomed planet. The mighty Gloriana-class Battleship was merciless as its guns opened fire on the enemy refugee ships, sending some back to the ground in flames, letting others pass untouched. As the Vengeful Spirit continued its brutal barrage, Sargon informed Abaddon that their primary objective had been spotted -- the Pulchritudinous, a Lunar-class Cruiser, Halcyon Pattern variant hull of the IIIrd Legion. It had been born on the orbital docks above sacred Mars. Abaddon ordered his crew to let the other voidships run. Though they could have decimated the enemy vessel with the Vengeful Spirit 's mighty prow Lances, Abaddon ordered the guns to stand down.They would take the enemy vessel by conducting a boarding action. The taking of the Pulchritudinous would shape Abaddon's Traitor Legionaries before they formally wore his newborn Legion's black. It would be the first time the preferred style of warfare of the nascent Black Legion would be displayed -- striking with overwhelming force to achieve a single goal. Let the Four Gods empower whomever they chose.Abaddon had cast the enemy in disarray, then went for the throat. Victory above all else -- the mantra of the Black Legion. The Legionaries struck the enemy ship's hull. Drills and magna-melters quickly chewed their way through compacted adamantium alloy, as the assault pods bore their way down into the iron flesh of the Pulchritudinous. As Abaddon's warriors entered the enemy vessel, they soon came upon a flesh-crafted horror -- part daemon, part lab-forged monstrosity, that was prowling the deck. They quickly dispatched the vile creature.Khayon inquired of the former Emperor's Children swordsman, Telemachon, who commanded this vessel. The swordsman informed him that it was commanded by none other than Primogenitor Fabius, the so-called "Clone Lord." He also remarked that they did not call the vessel the Pulchritudinous any longer, now the Emperor's Children called it the Fleshmarket. Telemachon also informed his companions that they should count their dark blessings that they boarded this ship during the confusion and chaos of an evacuation. This ship was a fortress of horrors. If the Primogenitor had prepared for them, they would already be dead.Even so, the Legionaries pressed on, encountering no shortage of resistance from the foulness left to wander and rot in the ship's halls. Bonecrafted human thralls and monstrous Daemons that reeked of alchemical meddling. The assault party fought for an indeterminate amount of time before reaching a chamber large enough for the next stage of Abaddon's plan. Khayon contacted his fellow sorcerer Ashur-Kai aboard the Vengeful Spirit 's bridge. Both of them utilised their powerful sorcery to simultaneously tear open portals in the fabric of reality, which would enable the  Terminator armoured Justaerin to stride forth between the two ships, instantaneously. The first to step through the conduit was an armoured giant in massive black Terminator war-plate. It was Abaddon himself. His veins ran black beneath his sallow skin. His gaze burned with psychic gold. In one hand he carried a battered Power Sword, in the other -- the claws of his right hand were scythe blades still ringing with the resonance of the Emperor's murder. For the first time, he wore the Talon of Horus. It was in this first moment that Abaddon became his warriors' Warmaster as well as their brother-in-arms. Behind him came the hulking forms of Falkus and the Justaerin, shadows coalescing into reality as they passed through the conduit. Abaddon had chosen to wear the Talon in the poetry of the moment. With his father's own weapon, he would destroy all hope of his rebirth.The battle was brief with Abaddon leading the way, followed by thirty Justaerin, six World Eaters and one hundred Rubricae, the Black Legionaries slaughtered everything alive on the ship between where they came aboard and where they found Primogenitor Fabius. The warship's halls ran with blood and filth, runnels of it straining through to the lower decks, raining gore on the slave too wise to stand against the intruders. Squads of Emperor's Children took positions at critical junctures to defend their master's vessel, pouring Bolter fire down the corridors. But the Terminator plate of the Justaerin was proof against most of the punishing barrage. Implacably, the Justaerin advanced, and those who stood against them died beneath claws and hammers, each falling blow ending a life. Those who fled bought their lives at the cost of pride. Abaddon led them, killing with his sword and the double-barrelled Storm Bolter mounted on the Talon's bulk. But the claw's blades, still stained with Sanguinius' and the Emperor's lives, remained unsullied. Only when they reached the Apothecarion did they break their stride. All of the Traitor Legionaries present had long been inured to horror, for it was not the abundance of flesh heresy taking place inside the chambers that brought them to a halt. It was the fact that the overseer of this foul place had succeeded in his endeavours. This was not a laboratory of those who struggled and failed to manipulate one of the most arcane and flawed sciences. This was the sanctum of madmen who had already succeeded.They had been wrong all this time. The Emperor's Children were not unknowable years away from a cloning genesis. They had already mastered that darkest lore. Here was the Emperor's sacred genetic project rebuilt through daemonic lore and gutter genius. Row upon row of life pods contained mutated children and deformed adolescents. These were not just any children, they were replicated clones of the twenty Primarchs! The chamber had room for hundreds of tanks. Many sockets were empty, but the majority housed thrumming life pods with barely visible limbs moving through the carrion water. This chamber alone represented heresy beyond measure. It was not known if there were any more such tanks or whether this was all the Primogenitor could evacuate from Harmony. The Chief Apothecary of the IIIrd Legion came forth from an adjoining annex chamber and approached the band of interlopers. He had the audacity to entreat Abaddon and his warriors to take his side with sympathy, lamenting the loss of centuries of study and irreplaceable work. Disgusted by the fleshcrafter's words, Abaddon ordered Khayon to destroy the vile hell-spawned creations. The sorcerer sent a mental command to his Rubricae warriors, "Leave nothing alive," and with a roar of a hundred Bolters, the Rubricae rained a tide of explosive fire across the laboratory. A second later the Justaerin and every warrior present joined in. After what seemed an eternity, the guns fell quiet. Fabius taunted Abaddon that some things never changed, chiding him for still using the brute application of violence to solve all his problems. Abaddon explained to the Chief Apothecary that everything had indeed changed. Suddenly the sound of more bootsteps could be heard from the same annex chamber from which Fabius emerged. A heavier tread. Measured, confident. The Apothecary's eyes focused on the Talon Abaddon wore on his right hand, commenting that "He will enjoy the irony of that." Abaddon narrowed his eyes and asked, "He?" And that is when death came for them.A massive figure emerged from the annex chamber, swinging the immense maul Worldbreaker, a gift made to Horus by the Emperor Himself upon the First Primarch's ascension to the rank of Warmaster, into the first rank of Rubricae, sending three of them crashing against the shell-pocked walls. The figure then turned towards the Traitor Legionaries' loose ranks and charged. This was not a child cloned from scraps of tissue and drops of blood. Nor an abomination half lost to mutation's touch. It was Horus Lupercal, cloned from dead flesh harvested directly form his stasis-preserved corpse, clad in the breathtaking black war-plate stripped from his dead body, replete with the long fall of his white-wolf fur cloak and the pale shimmer of a kinetic force field protecting him like a halo. Horus Reborn charged into the Legionaries and began to slaughter them with Worldbreaker. Lheor and the last warriors of the Fifteen Fangs reacted faster than any of their comrades. Their Heavy Bolters opened up, firing their explosive rounds at the former Warmaster of the Imperium, with every bolt hitting home. But even as their bolts tore at Horus's armour and flesh, their initiative did little but doom them before the rest of their fellow warriors. The gathered warriors broke before the cloned Warmaster's onslaught and fell back, scattering to the edges of the room to escape the immense war maul of the enraged revenant. Khayon hurled bolt after bolt of mutagenic warpfire at Horus Reborn. It burst what remained of the creature's force field in a whiplash of air pressure, and boiled the skin and hair from its head. He came for the sorcerer and beat him mercilessly with the deadly maul, nearly killing him. Others attempted to cease the revenant's rampage, but all fell before the cloned-Primarch's might.Abaddon stood behind Horus, and with a single word he halted the Primarch's rampage. "Enough." He had barely even raised his voice, as the absolute authority in his tone was all that was required. Horus turned in a blur, swinging the massive war maul at this newest threat. Abaddon not only parried the mace, he caught it. He held it. He gripped it in the great Talon stained with the blood of a god and His angel. Father and son faced each other, breathing spite into each other's snarling features. For the first time the Primarch spoke, "That. Is. My. Talon." Abaddon closed the massive fist. Worldbreaker broke, shattering against a superior weapon. Scrap metal fell from Abaddon's finger. Despite the legends and stories told about this moment, there were no entreaties made to his gathered sons and nephews; no glorious speech about the possibilities of a new era, or how he begged for mercy when faced with Justaerin blades. There was no impassioned judgement delivered by Abaddon as destiny changed hands from one Warmaster to the next. There was only a cloned father and a prodigal son, surrounded by the dead and the wounded, so similar that only by their weapons and wounds could you tell them apart.Recognition finally flared in the revenant's remaining eye. "Ezekyle. My son. My son." All five of Abaddon's claws rammed so deeply into Horus's chest that they burst from his back. Dark redness spread across what was left of the white fur cloak draped in tatters across Horus's shoulders. A genetic god's blood rained down to the filthy laboratory floor. The Storm Bolter on the Talon's back kicked three times, burying six bolts inside Horus's exposed chest and neck. They blasted him apart from within, sending viscera and blood splattering upon those left prone, watching in mute witness. Horus' knees buckled but Abaddon would not let him fall. Horus's mouth worked but no sound came forth. If his last words found any voice, Abaddon was the only one to hear it. With a slow, smooth withdrawal, Abaddon pulled the Talon clear of his father's body, and the moment before Horus fell -- the moment before the light finally went out in the reborn Primarch's eyes -- Ezekyle Abaddon whispered five soft words. "I am not your son."