I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 580 Fugen was very curious!

Bang! ! !
The Forgebreaker, heavy as a meteorite falling from the sky, crashed down with a wave of heat, slamming heavily onto Abaddon's jet-black Terminator power armor.
Fu Gen felt a slight tingling and numbness in his fingers, and his expression turned somewhat strange.
He swung his hammer twenty-two times before finally breaking through Abaddon's power armor and exposing his body.
As for Abaddon's skin, it was even more bizarrely thick; no matter how many times the Furnace Breaker swung it, it simply couldn't actually smash Abaddon's head.
It was as if some unseen force, transcending reality and fate, was protecting him.
Is it a blessing from the Four Gods?
Fugen stared at the grotesque runes on Abaddon's charred body. These runes, like tiny wounds branded into Abaddon's flesh and blood, appeared extremely distorted.

Although Abaddon appears to be a human with almost no mutations, beneath his skin and within his flesh, his body has been distorted into an extremely inhuman state by the corruption of chaotic fel energy.
It was the blessings of the four gods flowing through his deformed body that protected Abaddon from Fudge's twenty-two heavy blows.

This resistance is not purely material, but rather a resistance from a higher level, a resistance based on fate.
The gods twisted fate, forcibly preventing Abaddon from being killed.
Any attempt to kill Abaddon would be inexplicably blocked, weakened, or nullified.
This is an extremely powerful blessing, one of the reasons why Abaddon was able to roam freely throughout the galaxy.

But Fugen only felt contempt for this.
In order to survive, Abaddon actually allowed the four gods to defile his body in this way.
And yet they still dare to claim they haven't submitted to the four gods, that they are independent beings, and that they manipulated the gods.

He was clearly a plaything in the hands of the gods, a monster in human form but with an inner twisted beyond recognition, a pathetic loser and a fool.

If the price of gaining power is to become so ugly, twisted, and enslaved, Fugen would rather die.

Looking at the ugly Abaddon, Fugen felt not only contempt but also an overwhelming sigh.

He could vaguely see Abaddon and his brother Horus in his memories.

Horus, clad in armor as white as the moon, stood shoulder to shoulder with his Council of Four Kings on the high platform of the Vengeful Spirits, so noble, so sublime, so near-perfect.
But where is his noble brother now?
Where have those noble warriors gone?
"Abaddon, you've fallen to such a state."

"How sad it would have been if Horus, before his fall, had seen this scene."

“You’re a fake! You’re not worthy to mention his name!” Abaddon struggled to his feet.

But Fugen kicked him in the chest, slamming him to the ground.
"He is a flawed thing, a degenerate, a failure."

“My father molded us to be perfect people.”

"Whoever can become the truly perfect person is the true prototype of the Son of the Emperor."

Fugan remained unmoved by Abaddon's words; he slowly raised the warhammer in his hand.

He wondered if there was a way to bypass the gods' blessing upon Abaddon.
It's like not killing Abaddon directly, but slowly accumulating damage on him?
For example, bleed Abaddon dry, slowly killing him.
For example, by slowly crushing Abaddon's limbs, the intense pain would assault his will.
For example, they could pull Abaddon's spine out inch by inch, causing him to become completely paralyzed.

For example, peeling off Abaddon's skin and exposing it directly to the air.

Fugen was very curious, extremely curious.

If he had done all of the above, would Abaddon have survived, and if so, in what form?
He had plenty of opportunities to test his curiosity.

After all, with the blessings of the gods, Abaddon would not die easily.

Let's start by crushing Abaddon's limbs little by little!

For some reason, even though this was Fugen's first time doing something like this, he was surprisingly adept at it.
He swung the heavy hammer, smashing it down on Abaddon's fingers; a loud cracking sound rang out.
Knowing that Abaddon was tough and resilient, Fugen didn't immediately lift the warhammer after it fell. Instead, he slammed it into the ground, grinding it like a millstone.
A sharp, metallic scraping sound rang out, piercing and terrifying.

Fugen meticulously ground Abaddon's fingers, grinding them into fine powder, as if he were creating a delicate work of art.

"Ah ah ah ah ah!!!"

Abaddon gritted his teeth, but ultimately couldn't suppress a painful howl.

“Fingers.” A slight smile instinctively appeared on Fugen’s lips.

"What are you going to do?" Abaddon looked at the smile on Fugen's lips and felt a sudden fear rise within him.

"Forearm," Fugen said with a smile.

Abaddon's heart skipped a beat, but the Furnace Breaker had already fallen again, bringing with it another round of brutal crushing, grinding, and sharp, piercing sounds.

"elbow."

"Upper arm".

"Shoulder."

As Fugen's clear and elegant voice rang out, Abaddon's left arm turned into a mushy mess of flesh.

"It's over." Abaddon said, panting heavily as he watched Fugan lift the hammer, his voice tinged with relief.

"The end?" Fugen looked puzzled, tilted his head slightly, and rested his finger on his chin as he spoke:

"Shall we begin?"

"That was just practice; the real training is just beginning."

"Besides, don't you still have an arm, two legs, a body of skin, and a set of bones?"

".ah!!!!!!"

Sharp screams echoed through the breeding grounds where the crimson angels had once used to raise mortals.
Fugen was very grateful to the Crimson Angels, who had once abused mortals here, and who still left behind many useful tools after the fire.

"Abaddon, I'm going to stuff this iron thing in here."

"Don't put it in!!!"

A low, mournful wail echoed from the silent bridge of the Vengeance Souls.
Like an electric current bursting forth, like gears rubbing together, like the song of silicon crystals.
Reality and the subspace gradually coupled, and amidst the roar of electric arcs, Vashtor stepped into the bridge.

His steel hooves struck the metal deck with a crisp thud.

Vashtor slowly unfurled the sharp metallic wings on his back and gently waved his arms a few times.

This is a brand new reality engine, a new model body, forged by Vashtor after several iterations and improvements following his time in the Soul Forge.
He called it "Reality Engine 135.555," the 555th minor version out of 135 generations of the Reality Engine.
This model fixes some bugs from the previous generation, improves subspace link latency, enhances vacuum gliding capability and reaction speed, and carries six great demons that have made pacts with him, sealed in the wings on his back. It weakens the ability to link with the surrounding machines, and focuses more on creating machines out of thin air, and strengthens the link with the Tuchucha Engine and the Heart of Plague.

To facilitate cooperation between his partners and himself, Vashtor also sent a 555-page update log to Abaddon and Peturabo.

As before, Abaddon not only didn't look at the document, but he didn't even receive it.
To enhance communication between them, Vashtor designed a subspace office communication program called Vashtor, but Abaddon hardly ever used it.

Vashtor has already iterated through fifty-four major versions of Vashtor!

In this respect, Peturabo is much better, replying "received" almost every time he sees a message from Vashtor.

But this time, even Peturabo did not take over.

Vashtor sensed something was amiss. Upon entering reality, he hurriedly looked around, searching for Peturab.
Fortunately, he soon spotted Peturabo.

Perturabo stood at the window of the Soul of Vengeance, gazing blankly and forlornly at the endless void outside, seemingly lost in thought, pondering something unknown.

"Petulab, Lord of Iron".

Vashtor first sent four or five Vashtor messages to Peturab, but Peturab did not reply, clearly having turned off Vashtor's messaging service. He could only interrupt Peturab's thoughts by speaking:
"Tell me, where is Chaos Warmaster Abaddon?"

Peturabo slowly turned his head, looking at Vashtor with displeasure: "Am I his nanny? How would I know where he is?"

"Also, don't call him the Chaos War General in front of me. He's just the War General of the Black Legion."

“I would rather support Ryan Aljonsen than support him as the Chaos Warmaster.”

Peturabo's lips curled slightly as he looked at Vashtor with a hint of displeasure:

"When did Abaddon become worthy of the title of Chaos Warmaster?"

"What merits did he have during the great rebellion that are worth praising?"

"I was responsible for the nine legions of the rebels, I captured Abaddon, I maintained the logistics, and I commanded the siege of Terra."

"Although I don't want this title, even I haven't taken the title of Chaos Warmaster, so how could Abaddon be worthy of it?"

Who pissed him off again?

Vashtor thought nonchalantly that since Perturabo was unhappy, he had no intention of provoking him further. Instead, he walked to a teleporter in the corner of the bridge.
This was also a creation of Vashtor; the teleporter was connected to a teleportation beacon on Abaddon's power armor.
If Vashtor wanted, he could use this teleporter to harness the power of the Tuchucha engine, tear through time, and send Abaddon back.

With a thought, Vashtor activated the teleportation machine, harnessing the power of the Tuchucha engine. In an instant, a spatial rift appeared before Vashtor.
Then, a sticky, rotten-flesh-like mass fell out of the crack, along with bits and pieces of power armor and equally fragmented organs.

Vashtor stared blankly at the lump of Abaddon on the ground.

(End of this chapter)