The Talon of Horus pg. 403

All five of Abaddon's claws rammed so deeply into Horus' chest that they burst from his back. The scythes pushed out the stunted remains of Telemachon's swords, sending the broken blades clattering against the floor. 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 over me. I felt like laughing without knowing why. Shock, perhaps. Shock and naked relief.

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, adding viscera to the blood slopping across those of us left prone.

And that was how they stood, as gold flared in the eyes of one and life faded from the eyes of the other. Horus's knees bucked 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.

I was fortunate that day. Not because I survived a battle with a demigod that should never have been fought, but because I heard Abaddon's last words to his father. With a slow, smooth withdrawl, he 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 primarch's eyes -- Abaddon whispered five soft words.

-'I am not your son.'"