Black Abyss, Shipyard.
Eden stood on the observation platform, his gaze falling upon the monstrous Chaos vessel not far away—the Omen Ark.
Due to its sheer enormity, only a sliver of the ship could be seen from the docks, yet it was more than enough to inspire awe.
This ship frame hadn't changed much from before, except now it was adorned with additional Dark Mechanicum constructs and equipped with a colossal cannon—an ancient relic unearthed from the Warp many years ago.
Only a warship of such scale could support the energy demands of the ancient cannon, capable of annihilating battleships with a single blast, or even shattering planets.
"How long until this ship can launch?" Eden asked, visibly concerned. The Omen Ark was Black Abyss's most formidable weapon—an irreplaceable pillar of its defense.
"You're early. The cleanup's not done yet. About half a standard Terran month before we reach final assembly…" Kaul responded, his back-of-the-head interface plugged into a console.
Mechadendrites danced around him, working on more than a dozen floating panels, binary code constantly spilling from his vox-emitter.
He was so busy, he didn't even turn to salute the Savior—the Dark Prince himself.
But Eden could see that most of those panels were fake overlays from the Mechanicus forums.
This black-hearted cogboy was slacking off again, trolling message boards and bickering online.
Eden had long grown used to his antics and didn't bother to call him out. He just gave a firm order:
"Double the cleanup crew. This ship must launch within a week. No negotiation. Or else."
Kaul froze for a second, like a machine experiencing a fatal error. All his fake tabs vanished at once.
Then he got even busier. Sparks erupted from his mechadendrites as he spewed hundreds of binary commands in mere seconds.
"You lazy scrap-heaps better get moving! Final phase starts in one hundred standard Terran hours! Anyone holding us back gets forum-banned—permanently!"
The cogboy howled over the comms, using a ban from the Mechanicus forums as the ultimate threat to light a fire under the other black-oil adepts.
He had once been left in the rain—now he tore away everyone else's umbrellas.
"Get it done, and there'll be bonus rations," Eden said, watching the shipyard spring to life, thoroughly satisfied.
Above the docks, dozens of landing ships soared toward the Omen Ark, disappearing into the colossal vessel.
The Ark, composed of dangerous wreckage stitched together, had been warped by the Warp. Meltdowns, corruption, and xenos infestations had made many sectors lethally hazardous.
Inside, it had birthed a fully self-sustaining Chaos ecosystem—like a twisted pocket dimension. Raiders, parasites, and daemons ran rampant within.
Before it could fly, every infestation had to be purged to ensure operational safety.
Over the years, Eden had used the ship as a brutal training ground. Every new Terror Warrior had to enter it for live combat drills—clearing out heretics and mutants in squad or platoon-sized operations.
Those who excelled received greater rewards and higher command.
Now, the clean-up effort was nearly complete. Just a final push remained.
But Eden had no choice but to accelerate the process.
The enemy was coming—sooner than expected—and in greater numbers than anticipated.
The enemy fleet was the Black Legion.
How did Eden know this so quickly?
Because they were following a travel route he had personally designed.
That flight path was littered with recon posts, and the entire region was under constant surveillance.
This was why Eden had chosen Black Abyss in the first place. Due to the Warp storms surrounding it, only a few safe routes led in or out.
Even if the enemy realized the route was a trap, they'd still have no choice but to take it.
Otherwise, they'd be forced to blindly wander the maelstrom for years—or even decades—risking annihilation by the Warp's hazards, with no guarantee of survival.
Even the Dreamweaver—an ark-ship from the golden age of Mankind—had taken years to chart a safe course here.
It would be even harder for Chaos fleets.
Eden looked over the latest intelligence report and smiled.
"Laudon's really something. Knew we were short on manpower, so he's delivering it himself."
This was practically a care package.
Black Abyss's booming industry relied heavily on the Grand Ravager's… donations. Much of its construction materials were looted from the Black Legion.
And many of the Terror Warriors had originally been Black Legionnaires, stripped away like fat from a bloated beast.
Now, at a time when Eden lacked soldiers, the Black Legion was thoughtfully sending more.
Talk about generosity in adversity.
"Hm~ Might need to thank the guy afterward. Could send a commemorative banner or something..."
He half-joked about sending Abaddon a plaque, honoring his selfless contribution to the Terror Legion cause.
After that, his expression turned serious once more as he issued operational orders to Black Abyss and its core defense nodes.
Jokes aside, defeating the incoming Black Legion fleet wouldn't be easy.
He was now in a race against time.
If the Omen Ark couldn't launch in time, the war would devolve into a grueling defense campaign—and the fate of the Terror Legion would be thrown into uncertainty.
…
Several days later.
Soul Engine Core Hall.
Eden walked through the corridor. Giant runes, crimson chains, ritual altars, and a shrine to Diablo the Destroyer lined his path.
A piercing scream rang out.
He turned to see a strange daemon bound within brass, gears, and pistons—fused grotesquely into a single twisted entity, endlessly struggling.
The moment the creature sensed the Dark Prince's gaze, it froze in terror, not daring to move.
"What's that?" Eden asked, pointing to the writhing abomination.
Kaul gave it a disgusted glance. "By the Machine-Spirit… those miserable abominations. We call them Ferrymen. They're both crew and ship—they are the ship."
"You're aware this thing's shape is bizarre, right? The ship's machine-spirit is practically insane. Even the Machine-Goddess herself had a hard time tuning it."
"No Cogitator array or human mind can handle this thing. We had no choice but to rely on daemon-host interfaces to keep it running."
"There are nine thousand such Ferrymen aboard. It took us a hell of a time to wrangle them."
Eden looked at the grotesque daemon. "Doesn't look very reliable…"
"They'll fall in line once you seize control of the engine. Remember—they are the ship."
"Hm. Can the number be increased?"
Kaul instinctively resisted, displeased at any challenge to his design. "I've calculated it carefully. Nine thousand is optimal. Any more and you'd just be wasting resources."
Eden frowned slightly. "Noted. But nine thousand isn't exactly a lucky number."
Kaul hesitated, then realized—he'd missed a chance to squeeze a bigger budget.
He caught up quickly: "Well… thirteen thousand could work. That's the sacred number, after all!"
Inwardly, he cursed his own weakness. This meant more funding—more Ferrymen to manufacture—more margin for his personal research projects.
Eden nodded approvingly. "Good. Keep an eye on their loyalty, though. Even Chaos constructs must be designed with faith in mind."
Kaul grinned, already thinking of the extra budget. "Absolutely, my Dark Prince. We must always remain faithful… to the Great One."
He avoided invoking the Emperor's name, wisely sidestepping that bit of heresy.
Not that either of them saw the irony.
Soon after—
Eden arrived at the heart of the hall. A thirty-meter-tall Soul Conduit loomed before him, beneath which lay the Soul Engine of the massive warship.
The two were deeply intertwined.
Kaul stopped at a safe distance. "That's the control nexus. It requires your power to activate. Afterward, this abominable warship will obey your will."
Eden didn't hesitate. He sat upon the Throne of Steel, as serpentine cables shot out like vipers, piercing his flesh.
For a moment, he thought of the Golden Throne.
The Omen Ark's core system… did they use that as a reference during development?
FWOOM—
With a sudden burst of Warp energy, Eden flooded the cables with dark red corruption, which surged into the Soul Conduit.
The massive structure ignited, and its blazing energy pierced the Warp.
The Soul Conduit was now a burning beacon in the Immaterium—like an evil version of a miniature Astronomican.
But that wasn't enough.
The raw Warp energy from Eden's Chaos-flesh could only act as a conduit—it couldn't sustain the Soul Conduit on its own.
So, he locked onto the dark side of the Little Sun, drawing upon it as a core energy source.
A surge of immense Warp power blanketed the entire hall. Within the Soul Conduit, countless dark red, semi-mechanical worm-like tendrils began to form.
They were called Demonsteel Nerves.
These dark constructs spread throughout the ship, digging into its hull, mechanical systems, and operational frameworks—releasing silicon-threaded strands imbued with the properties of the Warp.
They tangled together, weaving themselves into nerve-like synaptic cables of blood and metal.
As the Demonsteel Neural Web expanded throughout the vessel, Eden gradually attuned to the abominable warship through these unnatural connections, imprinting his will onto it—enslaving one chaotic machine-spirit after another.
The "Ferrymen"—daemon-crew fused into the ship—were also ensnared. Around them grew twitching limbs, bulging eyes, and drifting filaments—each hypersensitive to the Warp.
All of these components, guided by the Demonsteel network, linked together and fused with the preconfigured control nexus.
One by one, ancient systems began to awaken—weapons based on probability calculus, neutron shields, anti-ballistic teleport cannons, particle lances, quantum communicators, and more.
Systems from various eras across millennia rebooted into functionality.
Of course, most of these were completely incompatible with one another—riddled with structural gaps and protocol conflicts.
Fortunately, Kaul and his black-oil tech-priests had filled in the gaps with custom modules—turrets, shield generators, comms arrays, even hangars and auxiliary power cores.
Thanks to the central control core, many of these components could run independently without interfering with one another.
The exterior of the abominable warship was also transforming. The taint of the Little Sun's dark side caused further mutation.
The prow grew a snarling daemon's ram. Along its hull, Chaos-warped flesh, scaled plating, and jagged bone spurs sprouted. Several areas erupted in dark-red daemonfire.
The entire warship was evolving—its very form reshaped into something that mirrored the Dark Prince's image and style.
"So this is Dark Forging Technology, huh?"
Even Eden was stunned by the scale of what he had wrought. Compared to the Imperium's forging methods, Chaos' dark-side craft was more… direct—and utterly irreversible.
The speed of corruption was staggering.
Its only drawback: you had to build it first, then corrupt it afterward. A two-step process.
Worse still, Chaos lacked any true industrial base. They relied on salvaging from the Warp or looting Imperial constructs—everything was secondhand, twisted in post-production.
BOOOOM——
The Omen Ark stirred to life, slowly beginning its advance. Its shadow cast a vast pall over the region.
All who laid eyes on it felt an involuntary chill—a seed of terror taking root in their souls.
This was no longer just a warship—it had been reborn. Eden gave it a new name:
Heart of Terror.
It would march with the Terror Legion, bringing ruin to their foes!
Not long after, Heart of Terror left the docks, fully loaded with troops and heading into the void.
...
Command Bridge
"Have they arrived yet?" Eden reclined on the throne, his body riddled with unhealed punctures, visibly drained.
He had burned too much Warp energy in too short a time.
The Demonsteel Nerves had taken their toll, and even his Chaos-warped flesh couldn't regenerate fast enough. He felt weak, empty, and vulnerable.
Which was dangerous.
In the world of Chaos, strength must be projected at all times—to suppress unruly warriors or repel would-be assassins.
"My Lord, the Bio-Sages have arrived!"
The Dark Thunder Praetorians ushered in a few of the Black Bio-Sages, strange devices floating behind them.
Several among them were former members of the Savior's cloning labs—the minds who helped engineer Eden's Chaos-flesh.
Now they served under the banner of Black Abyss.
The sages immediately got to work, plugging tubes and infusion lines into the Dark Prince's back, filling him with black fluid.
It was a specially synthesized Chaos substrate—nutrient-rich and tailored for his mutated physiology. Functionally, it was amniotic fluid.
As it coursed through his body, Eden felt revitalized. He rose from the throne.
Lifting the infusion device with Warp energy, he walked toward the war theater map—a landscape composed of blackened flesh and blood.
A glaring red marker stood out.
Darkdeth.
A vital fortress world of the Terror Legion—and the only corridor leading to Black Abyss.
If it fell, the enemy could use it as a logistics hub and staging ground to strike directly at Eden's capital.
That world was now a warzone.
Eden could only pray that Heart of Terror would arrive before things spiraled out of control...
...
Warpstorm Zone: Planet Darkdeth
BOOM BOOM BOOM——
Chaos warships clashed violently. Sickly green beams and torpedoes covered in festering flesh crossed the void, explosions rocking the heavens.
It was clear—
The Black Legion had the upper hand.
Hundreds of warships and escort groups loomed like thunderclouds over the Terror Legion fleet, relentlessly pushing forward and driving them into ever more desperate positions.
Simultaneously, the Black Legion split off elite strike forces to attack the surface of Darkdeth itself.
Their aim: dismantle the planetary defense grids.
The entire defensive line of the Terror Legion teetered on collapse.
Flagship Command Bridge
"When the hell do we fight back?!"
Kryon roared, seething with rage. The current state of the battle was utterly humiliating—unworthy of the Terror Legion's name.
"This is all part of the plan."
Sage Rukar, the Legion's strategist, studied the war map calmly, analyzing every fine detail. "Your time will come—soon."
"You scheming bastards and your nonsense… always spinning lies to deceive us!"
Kryon still didn't trust him—after all, Rukar had once served Tzeentch and had tricked him more than once, causing no end of disasters.
"That was the past. We've long since renounced the Changer of Ways. Stop stereotyping."
Rukar spoke confidently, throwing out some new-age vocabulary: "As Enlightened Sages, our deception is reserved for our enemies. For our comrades, we uphold truth and camaraderie."
He instinctively polished the triangular all-seeing eye trinket on his chest—its calm, blue radiance shimmering.
A symbol of wisdom.
Even among the Sages, the temptation of such trophies was irresistible—they were marks of success, of plans that had borne fruit.
Each plan carried out—each scheme achieved—granted both power and satisfaction.
Suddenly, Rukar noticed a shift in the battlefield. The formations had reached the calculated positions.
He quickly called out:
"Now's the time! Launch the counterattack—it may go even better than expected!"
Next moment—
Kryon's voice thundered over the vox: "Charge! Boarding action—now!"
The Terror Legion's Chaos warships surged forward under heavy fire, unleashing boarding claws.
Brutal close-quarters fighting ignited across the void.
…
Onboard a Black Legion Warship
BOOM—
The hull ruptured in a blaze of molten steel.
"KILL!"
A group of Terror Warriors charged into the corridor, only to come face to face with three Black Legionnaires.
Their monstrous armor and honor-marked trappings radiated dread.
Just as the Terror Warriors prepared to strike—
BZZZZZZZT — Power weapons screamed.
Two Black Legionnaires fell—struck down by one of their own.
"BROTHER, DON'T SHOOT! I'M WITH YOU!"
The surviving Black Legionnaire slapped a recruitment flyer to his chest like it was a medal of honor.
(End of Chapter)
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