In the corridor—
A Chaos Space Marine from the Black Legion stood tall. His battered armor gleamed faintly under the ghostly light.
He looked at the Terror Warriors, and from his damaged throat came a firm voice:
"I am Elia. I beg to join the Terror Legion. In the name of Diablo the Destroyer, I shall spread terror and slaughter until the end of my life!"
This was a type of oath used by the Terror Legion—its contents had been listed on the recruitment flyer.
For a brief moment, silence fell.
The sudden display of loyalty from an enemy stunned the Terror Warriors.
They exchanged glances and gave a nod, seemingly coming to a decision.
One of the Terror Warriors took out a dark red badge engraved with the symbol of the Claw of Terror and tossed it to Elia.
"This is a token. You've been granted a chance. But you must prove yourself and pass the trial set by the Dark Prince to become a true Terror Warrior.
Now, follow us!"
Elia took the badge and pressed it to his chest, replacing the recruitment flyer—but this only marked him as a candidate. Not everyone could become a true Terror Warrior.
Joining the Terror Legion was no easy task. The elimination rate was rather high.
Failing the trial meant becoming part of the reserves—handling logistics and waiting for the next opportunity to test again.
Alternatively, you might just get sent away.
There was one shortcut to becoming a Terror Warrior unconditionally:
Swallowing a Bloodstone.
Only the most elite Chaos Marines were granted that gift—those who did would also gain a significant boost in strength.
BOOM-BOOM—
The Terror Warriors quickly turned their heavy weapons on five Black Legion reinforcements. Melta grenades dissolved armor and corrupted flesh alike.
Even the screams were short-lived.
Elia watched the scene, a glint of envy in his eyes.
Such high-value specialized munitions were normally reserved for elite Black Legion forces and used only in stalemated assaults.
Yet these Terror Warriors used them so casually—and seemed to have plenty left.
The rumors were true: the Terror Legion had unlimited ammo!
Well, not exactly. While Eden claimed they had infinite ammunition, that only applied to standard munitions. Specialized rounds were issued in limited quantities to each warrior.
No empire, no matter how wealthy, could afford to waste them wantonly.
However, Eden had opened up a purchase channel for special munitions. The price was steep, but it let heavy weapons fanatics indulge to their hearts' content.
As a result, Terror Warriors often spent all their Blood Points—or even went into debt—before deployment, just to stock up on devastating gear.
This inadvertently increased the Legion's intimidation factor. After all, who knew what terrifying weapon a Terror Warrior might pull out next?
If they opened with a giant explosive… who could possibly stand against it?
Elia's gaze moved to the ornaments on the Terror Warriors.
Those imposing Wailing Cloaks already marked them as elite. He could sense the anguished souls shrieking from within.
Typically, only top-tier elites were permitted to wear them.
What Elia didn't know, however, was that the Wailing Cloaks were actually the cheapest accessories in the Terror Legion—a common item with no special effect.
They had to harvest many souls to slightly increase the cloak's aura of dread.
Real top-tier elites and rich veterans opted for flashy, custom wings or personalized regalia.
Still, given the cost of battlefield loot, even entry-level Wailing Cloaks were only affordable to a select few. So calling their wearers "elite" wasn't entirely wrong.
BOOM!
A powerful explosion echoed nearby—someone had detonated a high-yield bomb.
"Hurry! We have to storm the bridge before the other bastards get there!"
A Terror Warrior shouted. Taking the bridge meant an enormous Blood Point payout—maybe enough to buy a high-end trinket.
At once, the Terror Warriors surged forward with roars, charging deeper down the corridor.
The intel suggested the bridge lay that way.
"Wait!"
Elia stopped them. As all eyes turned to him, he proudly pointed to a side path.
"Comrades, follow me! This route has fewer guards. We can reach the bridge faster!"
And just like that, the former Black Legionnaire led the Terror Warriors in a headlong rush toward the ship's command center.
This scene played out across the vessel—not just on this Chaos warship, but many others.
Countless Chaos Marines, yearning to join the Terror Legion, upon spotting Terror Warriors, immediately chose to aid them—showing an unusual degree of loyalty.
In a quiet corridor—
A Black Legion corpse suddenly twitched.
He had been ambushed by a traitor. Luckily, he hadn't quite died. Putrid fungal tissues and corrupt blood tendrils were slowly mending his wounds.
"Praise be to the Grandfather… decay has given me new life…"
The Nurgle-worshipping Marine groaned and rose shakily, swearing under his breath: "Damn it, that cursed bastard stabbed me!"
He didn't call his attacker a traitor.
Because—truth be told—he had also been planning to defect. He'd just been a little slower.
That wretched Tzeentch cultist had begged to join too quickly—before he could react, he'd already taken a knife to the back.
The Nurgle Marine dug the recruitment flyer from his belly and slapped it onto a weeping sore—so that when he found a Terror Warrior, he could defect immediately.
Also, it might prevent them from killing him on sight.
Leaning against the wall, he slowly stood—then froze.
"Where are the enemies?!"
Down the hall, a Black Legion support squad had just arrived—and they saw the flyer on his chest.
That was a capital offense!
Their eyes turned cold.
Faced with this, the poor, cursed Nurgle Marine despaired. He turned and fled with all his might.
"Damn it… looks like I'll be seeing the Grandfather soon…"
"Traitor!"
The Black Legionnaires raised their bolters in fury and opened fire.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM—
Exploding rounds thundered like an iron rain, shredding armor and flesh alike, leaving only blood-soaked debris.
Half the corridor was destroyed in the barrage.
"Terror and slaughter!"
Broken Horn bellowed, stomping into view. His heavily modified Chaos Terminator armor was even bulkier than standard, and hellfire wings blazed from his back.
He resembled a demon wrought entirely from steel and fury.
Just moments ago, he had emptied multiple drums of linked explosive rounds, flooding the region in a storm of fire—including wiping out the Black Legion reinforcements.
This high-ranking Terror Warrior preferred fighting alone, throwing himself into the most dangerous combat zones with reckless abandon.
Diablo the Destroyer had taken a particular liking to him.
"You won't escape…"
Broken Horn crushed a struggling Black Legionnaire beneath his foot, then reached down to grab the battered Nurgle Marine.
He was about to tear him apart—until he saw the recruitment flyer.
With a snort, he threw the Marine aside and continued his charge.
The Nurgle Marine had survived by a miracle. He dragged his mangled body toward the battlefront, hoping to find more Terror Warriors.
When he finally reached the bridge area—
The Terror Legion, aided by internal traitors, had already taken it.
And the Nurgle Marine got his wish—a chance to join the Terror Legion.
That said, the glare he shot at Elia—the one who had stabbed him—was anything but friendly. He clearly wanted to gut the bastard.
Soon after, the Terror Legion took full control of the Chaos warship, turned its guns on nearby Black Legion vessels, and unleashed a storm of unrelenting firepower.
The surrounding fleet and escort groups descended into chaos.
…
On the surface of Darkdeth.
Black Legion's core elite led massive forces in a brutal assault, attempting to dismantle the planetary defense grid.
Yet even fully armed, they lacked the aura to match the Terror Warriors.
Their own elite armor looked dull and unimpressive—like zero-spenders barely scraping together a decent kit.
Meanwhile, their enemies were a rainbow-colored mob of blinged-out, pay-to-win killers swinging oversized swords and sprouting dramatic wings.
The Terror Legion started with top-tier gear.
Still, the Black Legion had numbers and made progress pushing the front lines.
But then… something strange happened.
Their numbers began to dwindle. Familiar faces vanished—only to reappear in the enemy's ranks.
Even calls for reinforcements did nothing.
Most support squads landed, then promptly vanished—either going AWOL or switching sides.
"Traitors… all traitors…"
The Black Legion Chaos Champion's cry echoed with despair. He had never faced a more absurd and humiliating battle.
He raged and cursed:
"The Despoiler will not forgive you! You'll all burn in the fire of the Cursed!"
But he didn't rage for long.
He was soon shoved into a Bloodstone and converted into Terror Legion form.
On the battlefield, even more loyal incidents occurred.
Everywhere you looked—
Terror Warriors led mobs of Black Legion traitors, hunting down their former brothers.
The turncoats screamed like madmen, fighting harder than they ever had when they were still loyal.
The Black Legion had run into a devastating new equation.
The more troops we sent, the fewer we had remaining. Every warrior deployed only added to the enemy's ranks.
Perhaps the issue began from the very inception of this punitive fleet—too many would-be defectors eager to join the Terror Legion had been among our own.
Thus, the scales of war tipped steadily toward the enemy.
...
Black Legion Command Vessel, Bridge
"It's time to retreat..."
The Chaos Commander stared grimly at the battlefield. "Defeat approaches. We must withdraw and purge the traitors if we hope to win this war."
Although the Black Legion still held some advantage at the moment…
He could see it—more and more Chaos warships and warriors were turning traitor. The collapse was already underway.
If the battle continued, a catastrophic loss was inevitable.
But before the Chaos Commander could issue the order to retreat, catastrophe struck. A terrifying surge of warp energy engulfed the battlefield.
A grotesque, abominable behemoth—over a hundred kilometers long, like a mobile asteroid—smashed into the void.
Its mere presence inspired fear and despair.
It was the Dark Prince's personal dreadnought: Heart of Terror.
"The Terror Legion… how do they have such a creation?!"
The Chaos Commander nearly screamed. Such a colossal warship rivaled even the Despoiler's Vengeful Spirit in scale.
And he understood well what horrors a vessel like this could unleash.
Once it entered the battlefield, the outcome was decided. There wouldn't even be a chance to escape.
"Adj—Adjutant!"
The Chaos Commander, now staring at the glowing mega-cannons in despair, issued his final order:
"Use all means available! Get this information to the Warmaster! Unless we have a united fleet, we cannot risk sending more forces!"
But shortly after, the adjutant gave an even more hopeless response:
"My lord, all communications have been jammed. We're unable to transmit anything…"
Sending messages within the warp was already difficult—and with enemy interference deployed, it was now impossible.
"The psykers! Have them leave behind psychic imprints—perhaps the Warmaster will find them!"
"Th-The psykers are all dead, my lord. Twisted into monstrosities… already executed by the overseers."
Hearing that, the Chaos Commander closed his eyes in anguish. "No…"
And in the next instant—
A terrifying daemonic figure flashed across his vision, followed by the faint echo of a hellish roar.
His vision blurred.
Now he understood why the psykers had died—if even he saw that thing, how much worse must it have been for psykers who were deeply entwined with the warp?
Retreat orders had already been issued.
Now, all the commander could do was pray that the Heart of Terror didn't target his ship.
But he was not so lucky.
Moments later, a hellish crimson beam fell like the end of days, obliterating the command vessel.
Its adamantium hull and every soul aboard were annihilated in the purifying wrath.
It was a devastating purge.
The Heart of Terror had erased a major Chaos warship from existence—leaving behind only floating ash and echoes of grief.
…
Bridge of the Heart of Terror
Molten iron dripped onto the deck, scarring the floor. Around the room, torn armor, debris, and the corpses of Black Legion elites showed that a fierce battle had just ended.
"What a waste…"
Eden's voice rasped as he tossed aside the charred corpse of the Chaos Commander. The wings of his daemonic form twitched slightly as he returned to his throne and resumed his IV infusion.
Moments earlier, the Heart of Terror had arrived at the battlefield—only to find it already in disarray.
Fortunately, the chaos had shifted in his favor. Far more of the enemy had defected than anticipated.
Once the dreadnought entered the field, the Black Legion fleet attempted to flee.
To prevent their escape, the Heart of Terror deployed jamming protocols and fired a shocking salvo at their command ships, declaring any ship attempting to flee would be destroyed.
One Chaos Commander had reacted quickly, leading his bodyguards in a desperate boarding attempt.
But this was Eden's flagship.
The man had no hope of success. Only someone like Abaddon himself might have had a chance at taking it.
Eden had tried to win the commander over, but failed.
A warrior of that caliber—personally chosen by the Warmaster—was impossible to fully convert, and could not be easily controlled by tricks or leverage.
So, Eden destroyed him.
"Seal the battlefield. No information leaves."
He issued a new order.
With the Heart of Terror's arrival, the war was effectively over. No comeback was possible.
Black Abyss needed time to digest this victory.
This harvest could yield hundreds of Chaos warships, tens of thousands of Chaos warriors, and countless auxiliary troops and dark slaves.
It might even double the Terror Legion's strength—up to nearly 50,000 warriors!
In this situation, Eden wanted to buy time by keeping the news from spreading.
If Abaddon learned of the Terror Legion's true strength too early, he might mobilize a much larger force—or even lead the next crusade himself.
If that happened, Eden would have no choice but to pack up and flee.
No matter how fast the Terror Legion grew, it couldn't yet rival the Black Legion—a force built over ten thousand years.
If Abaddon came with full intent and at any cost, no amount of resistance would matter.
He might be a loser in tactics and ego—but on paper, Abaddon's power was terrifying.
He still had multiple dreadnoughts comparable to the Heart of Terror, massive fleets, and over a hundred thousand Chaos Marines.
Which meant this fleet that had been defeated… was just the tip of the iceberg.
Eden frowned deeply, troubled.
This victory had been far too lucrative. And unlike before, he couldn't simply vanish into the void.
He had to find a way to manage this crisis.
At the very least, he had to stall the Black Legion…
...
Savador
Inside the shadowed fortress's great hall—
"Still no reports?"
Abaddon paced the dais, visibly restless.
In recent weeks, reports of victory had arrived from various fronts. The Legion had reclaimed many of its lost assets.
Yet the fleet dispatched to crush the Terror Legion had gone silent—vanished as if into thin air.
A chill of unease crept into his gut.
"Could it be… that my fleet was ambushed and annihilated by the Terror Legion's treachery?!"
He shook his head, scoffing at his own paranoia.
"Impossible. Unless they had many times our strength, they couldn't have wiped out the fleet silently. At least some of the troops would have returned…"
"Lord! A battle report has arrived!"
A Tzeentch-aligned adjutant ran in, bowing with urgency.
"According to Commander Voron, the Terror Legion concealed its true strength. The campaign may take longer than expected!"
Abaddon reviewed the report—it had been sent before the war truly began.
Voron had already detected over 300 Chaos warships orbiting the Terror Legion's stronghold, with unknown forces still hidden.
He wasn't optimistic—but vowed to win, just not as quickly as planned.
But the date of the report…
It was a month ago.
Abaddon's brow tightened.
Given the current silence, the outcome looked grim. Otherwise, at least a few updates would have reached them.
But the warp storms were dense—extracting clear intel was difficult.
With uncertainty looming, the Chaos Warmaster turned to his sorcerers and prophets for guidance—seeking divination about the fleet's fate.
From the fragmented prophecies, three key messages emerged:
The fleet remains mostly intact, deep in enemy territory.
Black Legion warriors are still fighting—but many have fallen.
There is a real possibility of defeat.
Abaddon exhaled—somewhat relieved, though still grim.
"It appears the war effort is stalled. The fleet met fierce resistance."
He assumed, perhaps wisely, that the siege had bogged down.
If the planetary stronghold couldn't be taken, the fleet might have to withdraw for resupply.
Still, he debated whether to dispatch a second fleet for support.
In the end, he decided to wait a few more days.
The Black Legion's resources were strained—sending more ships prematurely would be wasteful.
However, once the stalled war effort became known—
Fury swept through the Black Legion.
Many warriors volunteered to reinforce the expeditionary force.
Commanders of vassal warbands even offered oaths of blood, declaring they would not return without victory—or else die on the Terror Legion's world!
Such fiery zeal pleased Abaddon deeply.
Since the bitter defeat at Savador's Plunder, morale had been in a slump.
Now, bolstered by a few recent victories, the warriors of the Black Legion were rising once more!
(End of Chapter)
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