Black Bastion – Viewing Platform.
"Plunder!"
"Let the galaxy burn!"
"Hail the great Warmaster of Chaos—!"
The roars of the Chaos Space Marines were deafening, their voices blending into a tide of war cries aid at one figure: the leader of the Black Legion, the Despoiler of Worlds—Abaddon.
His hand would bring the False Emperor to ruin!
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Abaddon stepped forward, and the cheering surged like a storm.
He had regained his forr majesty. His obsidian body was wreathed in the flas of Chaos, like a herald of hellish damnation.
Under his crimson gaze, the skies above the platform were filled with hideously twisted Chaos warships. Below, the plaza sward with serried ranks of Chaos warriors.
They raised their weapons and roared for war.
These were the reinforcents soon to embark.
Originally, Abaddon had no intention of deploying so many. According to the auguries, the initial expeditionary fleet had already breached deep into the Terror Legion's core territory, and had remained mostly intact.
That implied overwhelming dominance for the Black Legion. Only a small detachnt would be necessary—to resupply, reinforce, and deal the killing blow.
Victory seed certain.
But over the past days, warriors had ceaselessly petitioned to join the fight. They begged the Warmaster to let them destroy the Terror Legion.
To make the enemy pay for their arrogance.
Such zeal for war had not stirred within the Black Legion for many years.
Unwilling to disappoint his warriors, Abaddon grit his teeth and approved every request. He allowed them to assemble and set out in force.
Even if it ant a heavy toll on logistics.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—
Over a dozen Chaos warships, encrusted with spikes and tumorous growths, arrived and joined the fleet formation, expanding the shadow that lood across the void.
These were not Black Legion vessels, but belonged to independent warbands—roving Chaos hosts that often straddled the line between rcenaries and pirates.
From ti to ti, they would follow greater powers on their campaigns of plunder.
The call to war against the Terror Legion had roused them. One after another, these warbands pledged themselves to the Warmaster and Despoiler's legend.
They arrived in force to join the reinforcent fleet.
It was a rare sight.
Since the 13th Black Crusade had dwindled and their holdings had been pillaged, Savadar had not seen such commotion.
In those dark days, many warbands had seceded from the Black Legion. Even repeated summons from the Despoiler had been t with scorn or silence—mocked by other major factions.
But now, as the Black Legion reignited war in the Eye of Terror, Abaddon's na seed to be regaining its forr glory.
Still, the sheer number of warbands arriving caught him off guard.
Overco with excitent, Abaddon lavishly distributed arms and equipnt to the arriving warbands. Even Black Legionaries who had pleaded for the right to join were gifted valuable wargear.
Under the growing influence of the Terror Legion, even the culture of Chaos Marines had shifted. More and more began grumbling about the old model of "bring your own rations" warfare.
Abaddon would not be called a stingy Warmaster.
This was a chance to display strength—to attract even more warriors to their banner.
To make an impression, Abaddon grit his teeth and handed over the last third of the Black Legion's supplies, equipping the reinforcent fleet to the teeth.
Now, they were several tis stronger than the original fleet.
"They've returned—all of them have returned!"
Abaddon looked upon the vast fleet, blotting out the stars, and the well-ard warriors assembled.
His body trembled with emotion.
The scene before him took him back to the days of the First Black Crusade—when he was unstoppable, a scourge that conquered all before him.
Now that feeling had returned. The wave of resurgence was coming!
Abaddon steeled himself, suppressing the tremor in his limbs to avoid showing vulnerability.
He had to remain cruel. Unrelenting.
With a flourish, he drew his daemon sword.
"Warriors—tear the enemy apart like wolves! Burn their cities, scorch their worlds, crush the Terror Legion and annihilate them to the last!"
His sword pointed in the direction of Black Abyss.
That gesture was the signal.
The Chaos warriors erupted into war cries that shook the void. Like a tide of beasts, they rushed toward their landing craft.
Their battle fervor left no room for retreat. They took everything they owned with them, staking it all on this war.
Abaddon watched the reinforcents depart, heart aching over the resources spent. But it was a necessary investnt—one that would strengthen the Black Legion.
And if they triumphed, plundering the riches of the Terror Legion, the return would be exponential.
"The Black Legion will rise again," he declared suddenly.
A Tzeentchian adjutant stepped forward obsequiously.
"Brilliant, my lord. Your wisdom blazes like the stars themselves, guiding us to victory. The Black Legion's flaming tide shall engulf the galaxy, incinerating corpse-worshippers and all who oppose us!"
Yet, the adjutant couldn't shake the nagging feeling that sothing was… off about this reinforcent fleet.
...
Black Legion Reinforcent Fleet – Enclosed Warship Chamber
"What should we do… when the ti cos?"
Erik, the warband leader, sat grim-faced at a stone round table with his closest brothers. The air was thick with tension.
Things had gotten out of hand.
Erik stared at the forbidden relic on the table—a communication device from the Dark Age of Technology. It allowed brief information exchange between paired artifacts.
But there was one limitation: it could only be used a limited number of tis.
Now, only one use remained.
Days ago, Erik had received a ssage from his old brother-in-arms, Elia.
Elia claid he had successfully joined the Terror Legion, becoming stronger than ever. He'd shared tantalizing details about Black Abyss that made Erik burn with envy.
He also said sothing strange—asking Erik not to contact him again.
Sothing about not making the Terror Legion suspicious.
It was blatant disassociation—as if Elia now looked down on his old comrades.
Erik was angry. But he craved that power too.
He wanted to lead his warband into the embrace of Diablo, to undergo his own transformation.
But there was no path forward.
Even if he escaped Savadar, he had no ans to reach Black Abyss. The route was blocked by Warp storms, and no ordinary vessel could navigate them safely.
To make matters worse, the Terror Legion seed to be closing recruitnt.
He might have missed his only chance.
Then, hope arrived.
The Black Legion's fleet had t resistance. The Warmaster was considering reinforcents.
The mont Erik heard that, he led his warband in petitioning to join.
This was the perfect cover—to ride with the fleet and reach the Terror Legion's domain.
But the fleet grew larger than expected.
Too many Black Legionaries joined. More Chaos warbands arrived. The reinforcent force had swelled beyond control.
Now it was dangerous. The risk of betrayal had increased dramatically.
By the ti the fleet left Savadar, it had over a thousand warships and over 50,000 Chaos warriors.
And with the Warmaster's lavish arming efforts…
Even compared to elite forces in the Eye of Terror, this fleet was no slouch.
It had beco a force none could ignore.
Now Erik questioned everything.
Was defecting to the Terror Legion really the right choice?
What if they were crushed under the Black Legion's might?
"Ti is running out. I need an answer."
Erik looked around at his silent comrades. The fate of their warband—and their lives—hung in the balance.
Would they seize control of a warship and offer it as proof of loyalty to the Terror Legion?
A Chaos warrior suddenly slamd his fist on the stone table.
"Join them! I can't take this life anymore!"
Centuries of monotonous war and hollow glory had drained them.
They needed sothing new. Sothing the Terror Legion promised—beyond just power.
One by one, they declared their support.
They would risk it all to defect, even if it ant eternal damnation.
Having made his choice, Erik imdiately activated the relic and sent one final ssage to Elia—warning him that the Black Legion reinforcent fleet was en route.
So they could be ready.
After that final ssage, the forbidden relic crackled with black arcs of lightning—then collapsed into a heap of scrap.
Erik and his brothers quietly dispersed.
Each returned to their stations and began preparing for the mont they would seize the ship.
When the ti ca, this vessel would run red with blood.
...
Black Abyss – Grand Plaza
In the Dark Forge sector, the noise of chanical pistons, wailing machine-spirits, and the screams of Chaos-born lifeforms was constant and jarring.
Having just returned from battle, the Terror Warriors had brought back a trove of blood points and now flooded the forges, scrambling to purchase artifacts and accessories from the altars.
None of them noticed that the prices had quietly increased—by at least 20%.
That decision had been made in secret by the Savior and Dark Prince—Eden.
It was quite the profiteering move.
Why? Because he had noticed a fascinating phenonon—certain accessories were beginning to mutate under the influence of slaughter and fear energies. So were evolving into powerful equipnt.
One particularly ferocious Terror Warrior, who had slain dozens in a single rampage, had his blazing demon wings fuse permanently to his body—granting him the power of flight.
Such mutations weren't unheard of among Chaos Marines. Khorne's followers often grew organic armor, Nurgle's could sprout nests of flies to spread pestilence, Tzeentch's often gained raven wings—and the ones who served Slaanesh... well, they tended to grow rather indulgent mutations.
But Eden still felt like he'd undersold these treasures.
Compared to the random, grotesque transformations of other Chaos factions, these trophies were directed mutations—both elegant in form and powerful in effect.
They were fearso, stylish, and battle-proven.
So he raised the prices.
Besides, the materials used to create these accessories weren't easy to gather. A little scarcity would only drive demand.
If they still sold well at higher prices?
Then raise them again.
He'd market them like high-end luxury goods—perhaps they'd beco all the rage among the Chaos ranks. A fashion revolution of blood-soaked power baubles. He could already imagine warriors starving themselves or even selling their organs just to afford one.
Powerful, beautiful, and deadly—who could resist?
After all, no one but the Dark Prince himself had the production capacity—or the black oil-slathered servitors—to mass produce such masterpieces with rare materials.
"So expensive… When will I finally be able to afford one of these legendary relics?"
Elia stared longingly at a floating blue triangular eye hovering above the altar.
It was a symbol of the wise.
Though Elia now possessed a full set of armor and weapons, his desires had only grown deeper. He now sought sothing rarer, sothing truly transcendent.
The system established by the Dark Prince kept the warriors hungry—always craving more, never sated.
There was no end.
"Hope war breaks out soon..."
He glanced at his asly pile of blood points and sighed.
He'd just completed basic training.
To train new recruits, Eden had ordered Heart of Terror to pull more derelict space hulks from the Warp—perfect instances for live-combat training simulations.
Elia had spent weeks clearing one such hulk, earning only a modest stipend in blood points.
He used what he had to purchase weapons and specialized ammo.
He knew one truth: only by growing stronger could he earn more.
Suddenly, he sensed a change. Reaching into his gear, he retrieved the forbidden relic—his old comrade Erik had sent a ssage.
After reading it, Elia was overjoyed.
The intelligence it contained could bring him unimaginable rewards. He'd finally be able to afford his dream accessory!
...
The Demon Palace – Throne Hall
"This is bad..."
Eden leaned forward on his black throne, poring over a dataslate held delicately in his clawed gauntlet—afraid he might crush it by accident.
Currently, the Terror Legion possessed nearly a thousand Chaos warships and over 50,000 warriors.
Most of them were still undergoing training—but they could be mobilized at a mont's notice.
Things were going splendidly. Everything was moving according to plan. The future was radiant.
Just two more years...
And he'd have eighty thousand elite Terror Warriors and an arsenal capable of breaking worlds.
A devastating army for the wars to co.
But the universe rarely cared for such plans.
Suddenly, an urgent battle report disrupted everything, forcing Eden to prematurely cut short his power-building phase.
It was a high-priority ssage from the Royal District—concerning the Regent's territory, the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
The Plague War had begun.
For months, Ultramar and the Savior's domain had been monitoring the movents of Nurgle's forces, deploying fleets and reinforcing border sectors.
Dozens of recon fleets patrolled the surrounding systems nonstop.
But they had no idea where or when the enemy might strike—so they simply prepared as best they could.
Yet Nurgle's power proved overwhelming.
In just three days, the entire northern periter of Ultramar fell silent. Every recon fleet was annihilated. Not a single signal escaped.
A region nearly half the size of Ultramar itself had gone dark.
It had beco a black hole—swallowing every Imperial force sent into it.
The Imperium now referred to it as the Scourge Stars—a swath of realspace devoured by Warp corruption. The storms there were apocalyptic, rivaling those found inside the Eye of Terror.
Nurgle's invasion had begun with dreadful precision.
So Warp scholars even feared the worst—that the Scourge Stars might evolve into a new Eye of Terror.
The black scar was still expanding, steadily encroaching on the Imperium's jewel: the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
Nurgle's intent was unmistakable.
He sought to consu Ultramar whole, to fulfill so sinister and unspeakable purpose.
Lord Regent Roboute Guilliman had entrusted the Obscurus Sector's ongoing wars to the second fleet of the Indomitus Crusade, while drawing reinforcents to his personal flagship.
He was now personally leading the First Fleet in a desperate return to Ultramar.
"Let's hope the old man can hold the line," Eden muttered darkly. "Better not get dragged off to Nurgle's garden right away…"
His own Savior's domain had yet to complete its military preparations. Too many projects were still in their final phases—he couldn't mobilize quickly.
And worse...
It could be a trap.
What if he sent his entire army to Ultramar—only to have the Chaos moth swarms raze his howorld in his absence?
That would be an even greater tragedy than Cadia.
At the mont, the Terror Legion was the only force he could deploy freely.
The rest had to hold the lines—until the situation beca clearer.
That was the cost of empire. The larger your realm, the more vulnerable it beca.
The Imperium had to guard half the galaxy. Eden's burden was smaller—but still heavy.
After analyzing the situation, he decided: the Terror Legion would march for the Ultramar sector in one month.
He no longer had the luxury of skirmishing with rival Chaos forces.
But just as he was about to issue the order, the Dark Thunder Guard arrived—dragging a new recruit nad Elia into the throne room.
Elia brought grim news:
"The Black Legion has dispatched more reinforcents—several tis stronger than before."
Eden rewarded Elia handsoly.
But once the warrior had left, Eden fell into deeper thought.
"When it rains, it pours..."
He wasn't afraid of losing the battle.
He was afraid of losing ti—and worse, that Abaddon might personally lead this new wave.
He didn't have ti to get bogged down in a prolonged clash with that lunatic.
"Looks like I'll have to deal with this fast."
He summoned the Terror Legion's Wise n, issued new covert orders for deploynt inside the Eye of Terror…
Then gave the command:
Prepare for war. Mobilize the entire Legion.
This battle would not be an easy one.
...
Warpstorm Zone
The Black Legion's reinforcent fleet had begun to scatter as they entered the storm-lashed region, nearing the Terror Legion's borders.
Aboard one of the Chaos warband ships—Bridge
As soon as they crossed into the storm, silence fell across the bridge.
A dark pressure brewed in the air.
Erik's breathing quickened.
He exchanged glances with his loyal brothers.
They were waiting—for the mont everything would change. Their fate balanced on a knife's edge.
"Strike!"
Suddenly, they attacked as one—lunging with power weapons toward nearby Black Legion Marines.
"Now!"
"Attack!"
"Take their heads!"
But as their weapons swung through the air—
—they t imdiate resistance.
To their shock, every other Chaos warrior on the bridge also launched an ambush at that exact mont.
Blades t in midair, crackling with energy.
Then all froze.
They stared at one another—stunned by the synchronized betrayal.
Then…
Weapons were lowered.
They chuckled. They nodded.
They had seen the look in each other's eyes—
—and knew they were all on the sa side.
(End of Chapter)
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