Editing Abaddon (section)

==The Despoiler's Plan.==
Some random short story, written by some [[Aaron Dembski-Bowden|random anonymous]], on a random day:

“Do your marines speak true captain? That the Despoiler is weak and pathetic?” When he heard the question, the captain of the Sons of Malice's tenth company started laughing. He turned to face the renegade that was following him. The warrior stopped; his pure black eyes, clashing with his white skin, unblinkingly looked at the renegade marine.

“Only a fool dismisses the Despoiler as a weakling. Only a fool would believe what the Warmaster wants him to believe.”

“What does he want us to believe?”

“For past millennia, he crusaded twelve times. Each time defeated, he returned to the eye, laughing, for the worshipers of the Emperor thought that they won. Each time he fell, he looked less of a threat; each time he fell, generals and chapter masters, captains and inquisitors, started dismissing him as a smaller threat than he is. But they are fools. The Despoiler's plans were never to win. If he wanted, he could have crushed Segmentum Pacificus, Solar and Tempestus during his first crusade, but he waited. Why? He knew that victory would be short lived, that six primarchs were still alive, that his forces weren’t fully replenished, that he could have crushed any army which tried to stop him, but he couldn’t control the massive territory. So he waited, gathering allies and weapons. Each of his crusades was just a fraction of the endless armies of the undivided and the four. But he waited, each crusade weakening the might of the Imperium, each crusade plunging the dagger deeper. But now the thirteenth has started. full legions are now moving - armies of such might that the Great Crusade would look pathetic in comparison. Where hundreds of marines roared in the name of Khorne charging the Emperor's dogs, now millions roar in bloodthirst.

Where tens of sorcerers invoked the name of Tzeench, casting arcane powers, now thousands walk, their power darkening the skies. Where small groups of Slaaneshi slaughtered, driven to ecstasy, now battalions march, their perversion driving mortal men insane. Where only few squads of Nurgle's plague sons walked, their diseases poisoning the air, now uncountable armies march, bringing endless death, as even the earth breaks under their feet. The Despoiler planned this; now is his time to strike. The Imperium besieged from all sides, each enemy requiring more than the entire might of what can be given. They cannot win this battle. The Despoiler has at least nine legions of Astartes - Black Legion, Word Bearers, Iron Warriors, World Eaters, Thousand Sons, Death Guard, Emperor's Children, Night Lords, Alpha Legion. And his ally Blackheart has his legion of Red Corsairs. For hundreds, if not thousands of years, these legions grew impossibly huge. Not caring about their purity, not having a tithe, they increased to tens of millions. Endlessly increasing armies of cultists and traitor guard march with them bringing endless destruction. Daemons rip into realspace with every death, bringing even more of it, slaughtering enemies easily and endlessly.

And now is the time of the end. The Imperium would have already fallen. Even the first assault was incredibly brutal. The only reason that the Imperium is still holding are the genius of a general that is leading the Cadian regiments, and Necron and Eldar support. Only with this, the Imperium endures, but even so the Despoiler advances. Nothing can and will stop him, that’s why we joined him, on this crusade. We will get our homeworld back from loyalist dogs. And then the Legion of Scelus will rise again. And so you ask if the Despoiler is a fool? The fools are those, who didn’t hunt him down millennia ago. For he is the reason the Imperium shall fall.” The captain turned around and started walking, his steps the only sound echoing in the silent corridors.