Chapter 247: The Eighteen Strikes

"I can't get through to that damn traitor!"

"He's likely dead by now!"

Typhus's shout rang in Abaddon's ears. Mid-combat with Grey, Abaddon quickly withdrew, assessing the situation. Tremors and explosions had shaken the platform below, and Sorlax had plummeted into the depths. Though Abaddon had intended to call him back to continue fighting, it now seemed almost certain that Sorlax was no more.

"Your lord is dead; avenge him!" Abaddon raised his daemon blade to block the chainsword slashing toward him, rallying the warriors of the Forsworn. Unable to reach Sorlax, they took Abaddon's words as truth—Sorlax was slain. Driven mad with vengeance, the Forsworn launched themselves at the enemy with reckless fury, inviting their foes' weapons into their own bodies even as they struck to sever enemy heads. These warriors, once masters of close combat as World Eaters, ensured that in their deaths, they would at least claim a single adversary.

Seeing the Forsworn fight with such zeal, Abaddon thought that Sorlax's death was perhaps a boon, allowing him to focus fully on the Iron Skull before him.

"Look at you—are you even human anymore?" Abaddon sneered, thrusting his daemon blade into Grey's chest, avoiding the fusion reactor positioned between his ribs. Grey's skeletal, metal form made his reactor plainly visible.

Grey responded with silent precision, his chainsword flashing in a counterstrike. But Abaddon, anticipating the move, deftly sidestepped before the blade could even near him, regarding Grey with disdain. Suddenly, Grey's movements intensified, his figure blurring with speed. Abaddon watched as Grey approached, readying his defenses—only to see a sudden flash emanating from Grey's chest. Grey had activated his reactor's self-destruct.

Though Abaddon's daemon blade absorbed much of the blast, the explosion's force still hurled him backward. Moments before, Grey had not only triggered his reactor's meltdown but also reactivated his time-dilation mode, pushing his nervous system to its limits. Reality seemed to warp as Grey's mind flickered back to the Talon Hive, where he had fought alongside Qin Mo in a deadly assault on a rebellious chieftain, then forward to the assault on the traitorous governor-general on Talon II.

"The reclamation of Talon II is only a matter of time," he murmured, chainsword in hand.

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Abaddon growled as he pulled himself to his feet, his gaze lingering on Grey's ravaged body. The blast had torn a gaping hole in Grey's chest, melting portions of his metallic ribs. Yet, more heat had been absorbed and expelled by a circular device in Grey's abdomen, and steam hissed from every fracture in his frame. Bones that had been obliterated in the blast began reassembling at a disturbing rate, tiny black nanobots weaving through the exposed skeleton, knitting his ribs back together one by one.

Abaddon realized Grey was an unparalleled killing machine, his condition undiminished by the battle, his wounds repairing themselves rapidly. Meanwhile, Abaddon himself had absorbed the brunt of the blast; though his daemon blade had absorbed much of the impact, fragments of Grey's shattered metal bones had embedded themselves across his own body like deadly shrapnel. The balance was tipping, and Abaddon knew he would soon lose ground.

Resolving to sever Grey's head in their next clash—though he knew such a wound might not kill this iron skeleton as it would a flesh-bound foe—Abaddon surged forward, wielding his daemon blade with unparalleled speed.

Grey, his mind still adrift, believed he was on Talon II. Forgetting he had already activated time-dilation mode twice, he nearly issued a command to initiate it again, halting midway as a better strategy came to him. Raising his arm, Grey used his magnetic field to hurl a discarded power sword at Abaddon.

Such a tactic was laughable to Abaddon, who could counter a flying weapon in at least a hundred ways. With a smooth sidestep, he avoided the blade, prepared to mock Grey's amateurish combat skills—only to feel a sudden, searing pain in his lower back as a golden sword pierced his flank.

Trembling, Abaddon glanced down at the blade before slowly turning to glimpse the source: a luminous, winged figure, sword in hand.

Grey seized the opportunity, surging forward with his chainsword. Abaddon, trapped and unable to evade, swiftly sent an emergency signal to *Vengeful Spirit* and readied himself to meet the incoming strikes. Teeth bit through armor, ripping into flesh.

The golden sword withdrew, only to pierce him again. Grey and the unexpected angelic warrior struck without mercy; within mere seconds, they had delivered eighteen lethal blows, each finding its mark. Before the angel could strike a nineteenth time, Abaddon's body vanished, transported back to *Vengeful Spirit*.

Grey glanced down at his chainsword, now slick with the warlord's blood. The weapon, reduced to half its original length in the battle, had still managed to carve through Abaddon's armor. Though its teeth should, by all logic, have ceased to function, they continued their relentless rotation.

Grey turned to the angel who had joined him in the fight, intending to ask her name. Before he could, he sensed her identity: Celestine, the Living Saint who had waged war since ancient times.

Celestine cast a glance at the others still locked in combat, noting Abaddon and Sorlax's absence, and realized only Typhus remained to command the fray. Deciding her presence was no longer needed, she ascended in a golden blaze, tearing through the metal above to join the vast battle on the surface.

Grey found a brief reprieve to dislodge the claw embedded in his waist, still clutching the last fusion reactor. To his dismay, he discovered the nanobots repairing his wounds had welded it to his hipbone; extracting it would have to wait until he met Qin Mo again.

With no choice, Grey continued to fight, claw and all, while battles raged on within and beyond the satellite. On Cardia, the war neared its final chapter, and Creed focused on the satellite, observing the combat through holograms and crafting his next strategic move.