Deep within the Warp, at the heart of the Soul Forge,
Electricity, sparks, inspiration, kinetic energy, and thoughts constantly danced within the silver-grey mist, weaving together a magnificent will.
That was Vashtorr's true form, the essence of the Creator.
His mind lurked in the deepest parts of the Soul Forge, injecting a portion of himself into bodies forged in steel furnaces, then casting them into different corners of reality.
He, in turn, used these bodies to observe everything in the real world.
The limited perspective of mortals is constrained by time, but for Vashtorr, everything in reality happened simultaneously.
One moment, Vashtorr had just signed a contract with Abaddon, exhausting him to no end.
The next moment, Vashtorr had already been under contract with Abaddon for decades, salvaging numerous derelict ships from the Warp for him and transforming them into Ark of Omens.
During these decades, Abaddon also helped Vashtorr collect a large number of 'key' fragments, or rather, fragments of the ouroboros.
The ouroboros was the last of the three divine artifacts of the old ones, the former homeworld of the Dark Angels, Caliban itself. By collecting enough fragments of Caliban, the ouroboros could be restored and merged with the Tuqiaocha Engine and the plagueheart to form the true three divine artifacts of the old ones, the Engine of Discord. That was Vashtorr's key to becoming a higher being.
But it was still too slow.
Vashtorr observed the incredibly complex real universe; reality was like a precise and intricate clock, constantly churning and becoming more complex.
Fortunately, Vashtorr's domain was already adept at observation, analysis, and research, but he barely managed to glimpse fragmented bits of the future from the constantly changing tides.
Coupled with his mastery over the Malicious Art, he vaguely sensed something: His competitor was about to awaken.
Although he didn't know why that being had been dormant, if he awoke and intended to contend for the position of Lord of Malicious Art, Vashtorr was almost certainly doomed to fail now.
That being had Slaanesh, Nurgle, and even the Dark King behind him, as well as three Primarchs: Guilliman, Sanguinius, and Lion El'Jonson. If Slaanesh and Nurgle directly intervened, there were also Mortarion and Fulgrim, not to mention whatever the Dark King had up his sleeve.
Vashtorr, on the other hand, had nothing behind him, only Abaddon, and perhaps, if stretched, Perturabo, who was cooperating with him.
At this thought, Vashtorr felt a faint dread.
He was to fight Slaanesh, Nurgle, the Dark King, Guilliman, Sanguinius, Lion El'Jonson, and Mortarion. Was this real?
Either he quickly gathered enough Caliban fragments, or he had to seek help from the other Chaos Gods.
Ultimately, to gather Caliban fragments quickly, Vashtorr still had to rely on the Chaos Gods.
Vashtorr's surging thoughts paused for a moment, as if sighing faintly.
Only naive fellows like Abaddon would think they could remain independent in the face of the Warp.
Although Vashtorr tried his best to maintain independence, he also knew that his independence was, from the very beginning, tacitly permitted by certain beings.
The Creator slowly raised his head, looking at the boundless Warp tides above the Soul Forge.
Vashtorr's power came from curiosity, thirst for knowledge, innovative spirit, and creations devoid of morality.
These domains overlapped to some extent with the Lord of Change, and he could use this to establish some communication with the Lord of Change.
Millions of thoughts intertwined in the blink of an eye, and the will of the Lord of Change descended into the Soul Forge, directly connecting with Vashtorr's will.
Vashtorr perceived that the Lord of Change had outlined a trajectory for him on the stellar map of reality, pointing towards Corinal.
The moment he saw that star, all information about that planet, the homeworld of the Crimson Angel Chapter, flooded Vashtorr's will.
Besides that, fragmented words like Blood Angels, Sanguinius, Red Angel, Blood Ravens, Fulgrim, and so on, flashed through his mind, forming scattered images.
Instantly, Vashtorr roughly understood what the Blood God and the Lord of Change wanted to do.
At the same time, the Lord of Change also presented his reward.
Numerous Caliban fragments were submerged in the tides of the Crystal Labyrinth; as long as Vashtorr was willing to help, whether successful or not, these would belong to Vashtorr.
Whether successful or not.
This aroused Vashtorr's vigilance, and he vaguely realized that the plan on the Crimson Angels' homeworld might just be one part of Tzeentch and Khorne's scheme, and Vashtorr himself might be their true target.
But vaguely, Vashtorr saw the figure of Saint Doraemon on Corinal.
This was clearly presented to him intentionally by Tzeentch.
Vashtorr was silent for a moment, then finally agreed to the series of protocols Tzeentch proposed.
Tzeentch then let out a cunning laugh, seemingly celebrating that everything was going according to his plan.
"But before that—"
Vashtorr slowly began, he slightly raised his hand, and countless agreements appeared from the void:
"…Let's sign a contract first."
Looking at the contracts spread across the land, Tzeentch's cunning laughter abruptly ceased.
On the Vengeful Spirit, lying in a machine composed of complex cables, Abaddon's complexion had slightly regained some color.
This was Vashtorr's creation, capable of extracting a bit of the chaotic evil energy from the wound on Abaddon's chest and injecting it into Abaddon's body, where it would merge with the blessings within him. Not only could it temporarily restore Abaddon, but it could also make him stronger than before.
But this was only temporary; that wound pierced through time and space and would never dissipate. Vashtorr's creation could only extract tiny fragments, and once those extracted portions were depleted, Abaddon would return to his previous gravely injured state.
Feeling the strength gradually returning to his body, Abaddon couldn't help but feel a little emotional. Vashtorr was truly different from other Chaos entities.
He was a good god! Not only did he give Abaddon this creation that could temporarily heal him, but he also replenished Abaddon's fleet with a large number of so-called Ark of Omens.
Ark of Omens were actually massive vessels converted from space hulks. These gigantic aggregations of derelict ships drifted through the Warp, constantly drawing evil energy from the Empyrean to coalesce, imbued with the Warp's malevolent power, making them incredibly strong.
Vashtorr, leading Abaddon's sorcerers and Dark Mechanicus, tamed these ships, transforming them into powerful Ark of Omens using Vashtorr's strange Malicious Art.
These Ark of Omens allowed Abaddon's fleet to rampage across the galaxy. Although the overall power of Chaos was receding in the face of Guilliman's Indomitus Crusade, at least they weren't utterly defenseless.
And for all this, Vashtorr's demanded compensation was merely for Abaddon and the Ark of Omens fleet to retrieve some so-called 'key fragments' that looked no different from scrap metal.
This greatly satisfied Abaddon. Indeed, as he said, in front of truly willful individuals, the Warp was an infinite treasure trove from which one could take whatever they desired—
Sizzle—
Suddenly, the currents within the Vengeful Spirit sparked a few times, and a flash of electricity streaked through the void, condensing into a form in the blink of an eye.
Vashtorr appeared before Abaddon, looking at him with his eyes, which glowed red like a furnace fire.
"I need you. Take your most elite troops; we will go to Corinal," Vashtorr said in an unquestionable tone.
What the hell was Corinal?
The smile on Abaddon's lips stiffened, but he still managed to maintain a semblance of politeness as he replied, "I was just about to head to the Watch Station, which is currently the most critical location in the entire galaxy—"
"The Watch Station is not as critical as you think. I am the God of Invention and Creation—at least for now. I can sense that a brand new invention is about to be born in the galaxy. Once that invention comes into being, the Watch Station will be worthless."
Vashtorr's voice, like crackling electricity, rudely interrupted Abaddon's words:
"Corinal is more important. It concerns the will of the Chaos Gods, the fate of Sanguinius, and whether I can ascend to godhood."
"I! Am! Going! To! The! Watch! Station!" Abaddon's patience had been completely worn away. He gritted his teeth, speaking each word with seething anger.
"According to Article 1,365 of our contract: I have the right to demand that Abaddon the Despoiler assist me in ascending to godhood at a critical moment, and Abaddon shall not refuse in any way."
"According to Annotation 555 of that article: A critical moment refers to any situation that might lead to my failure to ascend to godhood."
"Likewise, according to Annotation 556 of that article: Assistance refers to Abaddon providing help in any manner Vashtorr requires, within his capabilities."
Vashtorr calmly refuted Abaddon using the contract they had signed.
Abaddon's expression stiffened, for he indeed felt the binding force of the contract, sensing that if he continued to violate it, Vashtorr would claim his soul.
Abaddon was silent for a moment, then responded, "It's about providing you assistance within my own capabilities."
"According to Annotation 72 of Annotation 556 of Article 1,365: Abaddon's capabilities refer to situations that do not endanger Abaddon's life."
"You mentioned some Coco-what-star? Anyway, that planet is related to Sanguinius, and I could very well die facing a Primarch," Abaddon retorted with a grimace.
"Precisely, but with the help of another Primarch, that's another matter," Vashtorr said calmly.
At the same time, electrical sparks flickered around him, and a colossal figure, like a metal wall, emerged from the Vengeful Spirit's bridge, staring at Abaddon with cold eyes.
Abaddon was momentarily speechless. He hadn't expected Vashtorr to have formed a partnership with this individual.
"Aren't you looking for your hammer?" Abaddon growled, questioning.
A few veins bulged on Perturabo's face.
"I AM LOOKING FOR MY HAMMER!!!!" he roared with a hatred Abaddon could not have imagined.