Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor Chapter 416 - 417 – Chaos Warlord: Hiss... Maybe We Should J

When the Chaos Marines realized they were all "traitors" with the sa idea, the tense atmosphere instantly relaxed.

Those who had previously crossed blades withdrew their weapons, nodding or smiling at one another. So even pulled out recruitnt posters as proof of their intentions.

For a mont, the bridge was filled with a strangely jovial mood.

But that soon faded, replaced by grim resolve. They had made their choice: to defect to the Terror Legion. There was no turning back.

If they failed, death was the only outco.

"We must take complete control of this vessel. Purge all threats…" Erik gripped his power weapon tightly. "And we'll need more bloodshed and trophies to offer to the Dark Prince and the mighty Diablo. Only then will we be acknowledged!"

He knew defection wasn't as simple as just showing up. The Terror Legion would never trust them blindly.

They needed to prove their worth—by spilling blood and gathering war trophies in tribute.

A Khornate warband leader growled lowly, "Yes. All who refuse to join us must die. The Terror King revels in fear... and adores the heads of heretics. That's our specialty."

The warband leaders quickly reached a consensus: eliminate any remaining Black Legion loyalists aboard the ship before news of their betrayal could escape.

If word got out, the vessel would beco a target for annihilation.

They sealed off all transmission channels, using warp sorcery to scramble psychic signals—temporarily cutting the ship off from the outside. In the chaotic warp storm, such silence was nothing unusual.

Erik and the other warband leaders divided the ship into zones, each leading their warriors to purge their respective areas.

But strangely… Erik encountered no resistance.

"What the hell? Where are the loyalist Black Legionnaires?" he snarled, eyes burning as he searched for opposition.

Yet every corridor he passed was oddly... festive.

Groups of Black Legion Marines were already throwing celebrations for their planned defection to the Terror Legion. So even brought all their belongings, pledging never to return.

He couldn't find a single enemy to slay.

Two days later, the warband leaders regrouped—equally empty-handed. Most had only managed to slaughter a few xenos and daemons that had infiltrated the ship.

They were frustrated.

Good news: Everyone had defected.

Bad news: Everyone had defected.

They'd unified the entire ship under one cause—but that also ant there was no one left to kill for tribute.

This posed a serious problem: how could they win the favor of the Terror Legion without blood-soaked offerings?

Their future standing in the legion depended on it.

"Damn it… those bastards had the sa idea as us. Looks like we'll have to find war trophies elsewhere..."

A new plan erged—target other ships for raids.

It was risky. If caught, they'd face a fleet-wide barrage. Total annihilation.

But Chaos Marines weren't afraid of danger. They craved glory and spoils more than safety.

Everyone agreed to the plan.

As a disciple of Tzeentch, Erik offered a flawless strategy: in a few days, the fleet would enter a violent storm sector of the warp. All communications and sensors would be scrambled.

That was their mont.

They'd launch the assault, then vanish into the storm—making their way to the Terror Legion's territory under the cover of chaos.

The others approved. Everything was falling into place.

In the following days, hundreds of Chaos Marines and their auxiliaries readied themselves for battle.

This would be their final act within the reinforcent fleet.

RUMBLE…

In the void above, vast ion clouds twisted in shades of dark violet. Though in space, the crew still heard the crackling thunder and agonized wails coming from the clouds.

Massive warp entities swam through them, including kiloter-long void whales that radiated a monstrous presence.

Even among elite warfleets of the galaxy, such creatures instilled unease.

On the bridge—

"The fleet will enter the storm soon. We have roughly one eclipse's ti to strike and escape," Erik reported, eyeing the stormclouds.

He reviewed the plan with other leaders, confirming their target and escape window.

According to Imperial ti, they had fifty-nine standard Terran hours to complete the operation.

Not much.

They needed to sabotage the enemy ship's shields, then board and capture it. Many would die in the process.

But death was never the issue.

They were Chaos Marines—death was constant. What mattered was whether the fight brought honor and gain.

Unlike their Imperial pasts, now stripped of official glory, these warriors were obsessed with reclaiming prestige.

Hence their obsession with proving themselves to the Terror Legion.

"This is a gamble… we could lose everything," Erik muttered, eyes fixed on the star chart.

He thought briefly of Elia—wondering if that bastard had received his warning and capitalized on it.

Knowing him, probably.

Then the storm clouds swallowed the fleet. One by one, ships vanished into the maelstrom, shrouded by warp lightning.

"Here we go…"

Erik inhaled sharply, activating the ship's shields and prepping the crew.

The bridge dimd. A red glow bathed the chamber, stronger than the ship's lighting systems.

The sensors? Useless. Radar was now a blur.

Only vague shadows of ships remained visible.

Erik opened a fleet-wide channel for final orders:

"Warriors—let loose your wrath. Drown the enemy in fear and slaughter. All in the na of the Terror King!"

A chorus of roars shook the vessel.

But Erik remained focused—he needed clarity, not frenzy.

He ordered the ship to reduce speed, gliding toward the fleet's edge and their designated target.

But then—sothing unexpected.

The target ship changed course—rushing toward them and opening fire.

BOOM!

Shields flared. The bridge shook violently.

"Engage! Board them now!!" Erik roared, igniting his power weapon.

Through the viewport, he saw incoming enemy boarding claws—far too fast for interception.

The enemy was boarding them instead.

BOOM—

The claws tore into the hull. Chaos Champions led squads through, charging with warcries:

"Blood and fear! For the Terror King!"

"…??!"

Erik raised his blade, ready to counterattack—until he processed the battlecry.

Wait.

He quickly activated the bridge's audio system to halt the clash. They were all followers of the Terror King—this was madness!

Thankfully, the attacking commander was also a Tzeentch devotee. A conversation followed.

The two sides had... the exact sa plan.

It was uncanny. Fate, almost.

They quickly agreed to cooperate—combining forces to attack another Black Legion warship.

With two ships acting together, victory and escape were far more plausible.

They struck again—sneaking up on another target and igniting it in battle.

After plundering the ship and its escorts, they struck another.

Then, under cover of the warp storm, they split up—each ship darting into different escape routes.

At the observation window—

"Push the engines! Full overload—we must break free of the storm's pull!" Erik ordered.

Only once the shadows behind them vanished did he allow himself to breathe.

They had done it.

They were free—and soon to arrive in a new destiny.

A grin crept onto the Chaos Warlord's face. This had been… flawless.

For centuries, Erik hadn't seen one of his sches succeed without betrayal, disaster, or backfire.

He felt... touched.

Little did he know—

The mont the reinforcent fleet entered that storm sector…

its formation began to shift.

Zzzzzt—

A massive Chaos battleship burst from the storm, lightning dancing along its hull.

It was the flagship of the reinforcent fleet—

the personal warship of Abaddon the Despoiler's chosen warlord…

The one aboard the flagship was the supre commander of the reinforcent fleet.

Once the Chaos command flagship erged from the warp storm, it slowed to a halt, awaiting the rest of the fleet to catch up.

Soon after, a dozen more Chaos warships began to trickle in, gathering around the flagship.

On the command bridge—

A Slaaneshi commander sat adorned in crimson light armor, his face elegantly contoured and heavy with makeup.

He issued orders in a sharp, cutting tone:

"Adjunct, compile a tally of the returning ships. Report the losses in both vessels and manpower!"

This commander had petitioned to lead this campaign personally. He had planned to seize the sweetest victory possible.

His goal was clear: once rged with the main crusade fleet, he would assu full command and utterly annihilate the Terror Legion—bringing every Terror warrior unspeakable pain and destruction.

Especially the Dark Prince. He intended to deliver tornt so excruciating that it would shake the Immaterium itself.

Only by doing this could he hope to soothe the fury of the Warmaster.

The Slaaneshi commander gently caressed his own delicate cheek, his movents graceful and sensual.

He murmured to himself, "Only then will the Warmaster rember …"

His thoughts drifted to the treasured "Explosive Chaos Warmaster x Exalted Pleasure Champion" fan illustrations he'd hidden away. He dread of one day earning such... intimate rewards.

Unbeknownst to others, most of the wild rumors about the Chaos Warmasters—along with those particularly scandalous illustrations—had been secretly spread by this very commander. Many were even hand-drawn by him.

But no matter how passionate his brushwork, it could never compare to the mysterious artist behind the legendary "Pleasure Champion Series."

He shook off his thoughts and returned focus to the fleet.

Traversing the warp storm surely cost them a few ships. He only hoped the damage was minimal.

However… a disturbing realization soon dawned.

Around his command flagship, only a handful—barely a dozen—Chaos vessels had arrived. The rest of the void was eerily empty.

"What is the aning of this?!"

His perfectly arched brows furrowed as he snapped at his adjunct.

The officer hesitated, then answered cautiously, "Perhaps the warp storm slowed them down. Not every ship is as durable as the flagship."

"…Wait then. We'll wait a little longer."

The commander sighed and returned to his throne.

"Send scouting squadrons to the outskirts. See if they can establish contact with the missing vessels."

Days passed.

Not a single additional warship erged from the storm.

The scouting squadrons returned with no news—no shadows, no warp traces. Even the sorcerers sensed nothing.

They were alone. Just one flagship and a few escort ships, floating in a vast, lonely void.

"You said they'd catch up!" the commander raged, grabbing his adjunct with a monstrous tentacle and dragging him forward.

"WHERE. ARE. MY. SHIPS?!"

"M-My Lord... We've expanded the search radius… I-I'm sure we'll find them soon...!"

The adjunct trembled, knowing full well what horrors might await him if the commander's wrath boiled over.

Just as the tentacles tightened—

A ssage arrived from a scout vessel: they had found a wrecked Chaos warship… and survivors.

And with those survivors ca a shocking story—

A massive mutiny had occurred in the warp storm. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of ships had defected, attacked their neighbors, and broken off from the reinforcent fleet.

The sorcerers confird it: the readings matched.

They were never coming back.

"…Impossible…"

The commander slumped into his throne, face twisted in hatred.

"Those cursed traitors… they should all burn in the flas of the Accursed Ones! May every last one of them suffer eternally!"

He looked around at his pitiful remnants: only a dozen ships remained.

He had started this campaign with over a thousand warships and more than fifty thousand warriors.

And now?

He'd lost everything before even engaging the enemy.

What a cruel, absurd joke.

Was the entire Black Legion a nest of traitors?!

"My Lord… perhaps we should withdraw…"

The adjunct swallowed hard. "If we linger, we'll be detected by the Terror Legion soon. We are the only ones aware of the betrayal—Warmaster Abaddon will need us to carry this news back."

On the horizon, the lights of the Terror Legion's fortress-world were faintly visible.

They were already within the enemy's scanning range.

Remaining would be suicide.

Worse, perhaps the main crusade fleet had already been compromised too.

"Coward!"

The commander whipped his tentacle and hurled the adjunct across the bridge.

But he cald himself quickly and ordered the surviving fleet to go dark and slowly approach the enemy world.

At the very least, he needed to gather intelligence.

He shuddered.

The Warmaster would punish him for this failure—personally.

....

Terror Legion Fortress World – Dalkadir

A colossal abomination-ship, the Heart of Terror, led the entire Chaos fleet in formation, preparing to et the incoming Black Legion fleet.

Reports claid the enemy's numbers far exceeded their own.

On the Heart of Terror's observation deck—

"Why aren't they here yet?!"

Eden stared into the void, growing restless.

He wanted this war over and done with, to reap the spoils and head for the Ultramar Sector.

This battle had to be quick.

Suddenly—

Ships appeared.

Dozens, then hundreds, and more, spilling out of the void. Chaos vessels gathering with surprising urgency.

But their formation was a ss. They rushed in without discipline.

"…Maybe that's just how Chaos fleets fight," Eden muttered, skeptical but not yet alard. Surely they weren't here to surrender, right?

After all, it was an entire fleet!

Unless… sohow, all of the Black Legion's traitors had conveniently banded together…

"Fire."

He gave the order.

The Heart of Terror, with range far beyond any regular warship, prepared to unleash hell.

The ancient macro-cannon humd to life, gathering a beam of crackling warp-tinged energy.

"Hiss—wait."

Eden halted the strike just in ti.

Sothing felt wrong.

The enemy ships showed no aggression. If anything, they seed chaotic in a joyful way, not hostile.

He ordered them to be allowed closer—for observation.

At the sa ti, his scholars sent queries to the incoming fleet.

The Terror Legion held formation, ready to strike at any mont.

But as the fleets neared…

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Chaos ships fired celebratory barrages into the void—like fireworks.

Warp tendrils and monstrous limbs danced outside their hulls, grotesque mouths roared in triumph.

They were celebrating.

ssages arrived confirming their loyalty to the Terror King. Their ships had surrendered and defected.

Eden stared as the two fleets rged in an emotional, almost joyful reunion.

"…By Diablo... they really did co to defect."

He was speechless.

This was a massive win.

Abaddon had just handed him an entire fleet—complete with vessels, soldiers, and wargear.

The Black Legion's traitors had gift-wrapped themselves and delivered the package personally.

It was almost too convenient.

"…There's no way this happened naturally."

He frowned.

It was as if so invisible hand had orchestrated the entire thing.

Then it hit him.

In this world, only one being could pull off sothing like this—

The Changer of Ways.

"Maybe this ties into Father Nurgle's invasion…"

He recalled that, during the Plague War, the first to panic had been Tzeentch.

Strangely enough, as Nurgle made massive gains across the galaxy and prepared to conquer Ultramar, it was Tzeentch—not Slaanesh—who reacted most aggressively.

Tzeentch had started blurting out truths and scrambling every plan.

Perhaps this was part of his wider ga—subverting Nurgle's montum wherever he could.

It was only speculation.

Eden didn't dwell on it.

He had a fleet to process and loot to digest. The gift Abaddon unknowingly sent was enormous.

He just hoped that Abaddon remained calm and healthy—and didn't do anything… rash.

(End of Chapter)

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