Black Abyss Star.
In the sky above, Chaos warships covered in decayed flesh, brambles, and writhing tendrils loomed menacingly, blotting out the sun.
They were a terrifying force that would strike fear into any civilized world.
Boom, boom, boom—
Gigantic hammers forged from cursed steel and dead souls pounded away on the shrieking materials upon the anvil, causing the very ground to tremble.
The Black Sages manipulated grotesque tendrils, feeding more chaotic matter into the forges to craft ever more wicked daemonic auramite.
"Fear, torment, pain… the King of Terror walks with us, searing all souls…"
Chaos thralls chanted their praises in song, toiling ceaselessly within the dark industrial forges, sweat oozing from their mutated forms in thick, acrid globs.
They labored with pride, never daring to slacken—not even for a moment.
Because they, too, were part of the great Dark Foundry project.
Whether forging lethal weapons or monstrous Daemon Engines, their sweat and blood were poured into each creation.
These dark artifacts would harvest countless lives on the battlefield. Rivers of blood would run, and the enemy's cries of agony and dread would echo forever.
Even as mere thralls, they were spreading fear, bringing death—offering their humble devotion to the great King of Terror.
And in return, they too would receive the blessing of that magnificent being.
"Praise be to Diablo the Destroyer! May He bring more fire and soul-searing terror upon us!"
Just the thought filled the thralls with strength—for some among them had already been blessed and elevated to the rank of Dark Artificers.
Dark Artificers were stronger, had more tendrils, and no longer bore the shame of thralls. They had become full members of the Terror Legion.
The King of Terror, in His magnanimity, gave equally to all His followers. Every drop of blood and sweat was rewarded.
What greater generosity could there be?
Across the entirety of Black Abyss Star, a grand, booming Dark Production was underway. Abandoned space hulks were being disassembled, and vast quantities of material poured into the furnaces.
Batch after batch of Chaos weapons and armor emerged, and Daemon Engines, their cores ablaze with molten fire, stepped from the factories, roaring skyward.
These were the flames that would ignite the war.
ROAR—
At the altar of the Dark Workshop, several Terror Warriors, under envious stares, exchanged a sufficient amount of blood points to earn their own mounts—Hell Drakes.
These Hell Drakes had been specially modified, equipped with saddles to allow the Terror Warriors to control the abominable beasts.
They would become the Terror Knights.
More and more Hell Drakes took to the skies, circling high above while spewing searing jets of flame.
Within the shadowed clouds, one could catch fleeting glimpses of talons and scales—the monstrous outline hinting at its titanic size.
That was the mount of the Dark Prince himself—Blackflame, a Hell Drake hundreds of meters long, black-scaled and burning with molten fire.
"So, the little guy still prefers chaotic environments…"
On the observation deck of the Dark Palace—
Eden watched the monstrous abomination roll and twist through the warp-stained clouds, a faint smile appearing on his lips.
That was Scarflame—its former name. But now, it had been renamed Blackflame, completely remade through dark transformation and turned into a creature of even greater lethality.
It had finally reclaimed its rightful title as a Hell Drake.
ROOAR!
Blackflame dove toward the viewing deck, its barbed, bladed tail lashing about and sending out shockwaves with each swing—forceful enough to cleave through fighter jets or even landing craft.
It was begging its master for food.
"Hungry again?"
Eden restrained a struggling Chaos entity—a bloated Nurgle daemon—and casually hurled it into the distance. "Go on then. Have fun."
The beast had a taste for such prey.
With the Nurgle daemon shrieking in terror, Blackflame gave chase, caught its prey, toyed with it, and then tore it apart, swallowing it whole.
By the time it turned back around, its master had already vanished.
Letting out a low howl of disappointment, Blackflame vanished into the clouds again in search of more amusement.
Such as chasing the lesser Terror Knights and their tiny drakes.
Inside the Dark Palace—
"Damn it. I need the Mech-Greasers to overhaul this crap…"
Eden withdrew his warp energy, slumping at a massive black table, tapping cautiously at a data-slate.
Now he finally understood how miserable the Lord Commander had once been.
"My Lord, our vanguard has already departed…"
A Dark Thunder Honor Guard stepped forward and reported.
Moments ago, a vanguard force of ten thousand Terror Warriors had departed the Eye of Terror under the Dark Prince's command, launching an expedition into the Imperium's domain—the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
Eden nodded, eyes still glued to the data-slate.
The Terror Warriors had been clamoring for battle after receiving new equipment. It was time to let them loose.
So, he sent them to pick a fight with the Nurgle forces—to spread the fearsome reputation of the Terror Legion.
And also to stir up fear of the Dark Prince's power. Maybe even bait a certain loyalist Primarch.
After all, what better drama than challenging oneself?
CRACK.
Eden's razor-sharp talons punctured the data-slate, sending sparks flying.
"Piece of junk."
He crushed the mechanical device in his palm and looked toward the Honor Guard.
"You do it. Operate this thing."
It was becoming clear—he needed to hand-pick some trusted aides and form a Dark Strategium to help him handle administrative matters.
Then Eden slumped back onto his black throne to listen to the guard's report.
The latest figures were astonishing: the Terror Legion now had close to 2,000 Chaos warships and even more auxiliary battle groups. The number of Terror Warriors had reached a staggering 100,000.
The entire Black Abyss Star was in full war footing.
This was a force the galaxy—and even the warp—could no longer ignore. It was powerful enough to shape the outcome of any large-scale conflict.
And all of it… thanks to the generous donations of Abaddon the Despoiler.
Truly, Lodun's "contribution" deserved praise. He would be remembered as a major benefactor to peace in the Imperium.
In a way, Abaddon's health bar was indeed massive.
Despite being pummeled by himself, the Regent, and countless Chaos factions, the Despoiler never truly collapsed.
That alone proved that the Chaos Warmaster, the Great Despoiler, was built of stern stuff.
Eden frowned.
The only concern now… was whether Abaddon would completely lose his mind and launch an attack against him.
Fortunately, contingencies were in place. He'd already sent wise agents to ensure that didn't happen.
…
Salvador.
Inside the Shadow Fortress Hall—
"NO!!!"
The great Chaos Warmaster, the Great Despoiler Abaddon, could endure no more!
Not long ago, a few survivors had fled from Terror Legion territory, bringing with them an outrageous and shocking report:
Two of the Black Legion's fleets sent to assault the Terror Legion had completely surrendered, defecting en masse to the Dark Prince.
The Terror Legion had gained entire fleets without firing a single shot.
It was the laughingstock of the galaxy—an utter humiliation far worse than the earlier plundering of their base.
The Warmaster's prestige had been utterly shattered!
What sort of commander is abandoned by his own champions? Could such a leader still command loyalty?
News of the defection spread like wildfire across the Eye of Terror, with vivid stories painting the Warmaster as a stingy, foolish tyrant.
He had become a caricature—nicknamed Greedy Abaddon, the Big Dunce.
The ridicule from fellow Chaos factions was merciless.
"Why?! Why is this happening?! Lies! These are vile slanders! I'm not—"
Abaddon howled in fury, his body trembling, armor plates clattering violently. A cold despair gripped his heart.
He even felt a bit… wronged.
Before dispatching the reinforcement fleets, he had grit his teeth, dug deep into his vaults, and handed out only the best gear to his warriors.
How could they still call him stingy?!
"DAMN IT!!!"
As mocking messages from rival lords poured in, the Chaos Warmaster finally collapsed, overwhelmed by rage.
He fell to the ground, unconscious—only his topknot stood tall. The rest of him… slumped in defeat.
"Lord Warmaster!"
The Slaaneshi Commander, who had been kneeling to receive punishment, sprang forward and caught his lord.
Soon after, a new rumor began to spread: The Chaos Warmaster was dead.
They claimed he had been so humiliated by the Dark Prince and the Terror Legion that he screamed three times, vomited three liters of blood, and then toppled from his throne, lifeless.
This only worsened the internal chaos of the Black Legion—more warriors quietly packed up and ran off.
In the realm of Chaos, after all, bad news travels fast.
Not long after — within the royal bedchambers.
Abaddon slowly regained consciousness, greeted by the concerned voice of his Slaaneshi commander, who had faithfully remained at his side.
The Warmaster sighed inwardly.
In the Eye of Terror, those he could truly trust… were few.
So, he felt no urge to punish the subordinate who had shown such loyalty.
The Slaaneshi commander looked deep into his eyes and asked, "My lord Warmaster, shall we mobilize the fleet?"
He was unwilling to let the previous defeat go unanswered.
"Reach out to the other factions. Ask if they're willing to send forces to form a united fleet—to raid the Terror Legion together…"
Abaddon exhaled deeply, clearly having cooled his anger.
Soon, his Tzeentchian adjutant arrived with a report.
It was not encouraging.
Very few Chaos leaders responded to the call. A significant portion outright refused the proposal.
"We can't eliminate the Terror Legion… not right now…"
Abaddon closed his eyes in anguish, then made a difficult decision. "We're suspending the assault on the Terror Legion. There are more pressing matters."
Given the Terror Legion's current strength, there was little hope of victory without a coalition of other Chaos forces. And without consensus, any such campaign risked disaster.
Abaddon's analysis of recent intel had made the situation clear.
That so-called "Savior," that Chaos Marauder, had shattered the fragile equilibrium between the Chaos powers by organizing the plundering of Salvador.
That singular act had set off a chain of suspicion and mistrust among the Warp's factions.
Now, no one dared dispatch large armies independently.
Even organizing a joint fleet had become nigh impossible. None of the Chaos warlords wanted to expose themselves without guarantees.
After all, what if they sent out their troops… and the others used the chance to stab them in the back?
Even Abaddon himself wasn't immune to such thoughts. He had already suffered enough hard lessons.
Worse, doubts had begun to fester about the Black Legion's own loyalty. How many more traitors lay hidden within?
He couldn't help but suspect—
If he deployed more troops, it could lead to a coordinated attack from both the Terror Legion and certain rival Chaos factions.
With his prestige shattered, many would love nothing more than to challenge his authority.
Perhaps… the Terror Legion had already allied with some Chaos groups, just waiting for him to expose himself, so they could strike a fatal blow!
"The Black Legion will not fall. It will grow stronger!"
Abaddon's gaze sharpened. He reflected on all the mistakes he had made since the start of the Black Crusade.
He had grown arrogant, complacent, and had neglected internal management. This had bred chaos and betrayal.
It was time for change.
Fortunately, there was still time. The Black Legion still had strength. They had not yet been cast into the abyss.
The Chaos Warmaster—The Great Despoiler—resolved to learn from this, purge the traitors, and reshape the Black Legion into a stronger force.
Under his command, the Black Legion pulled back their lines, initiating internal purges and entering a phase of hibernation and rebuilding.
…
Black Abyss Star, Dark Palace.
"So… Abad's woken up, huh…"
Eden received the latest intel, and couldn't help but sigh.
In truth, Abaddon not launching an all-out war against the Terror Legion was the correct move.
If the Black Legion had mobilized fully, they would've become a prime target for opportunistic attacks from other Chaos factions, suffering immense losses.
And that was all part of Eden's long-term strategy.
Ever since he founded the Terror Legion, he had maintained one critical rule: Never allow this new Chaos force to become a common enemy.
Keep the number of enemies small. Make more allies.
Otherwise, destruction would be inevitable.
At least not until they had secretly grown strong enough to crush all opposition.
Thus, when the Terror Legion recruited new members, they deliberately avoided poaching from certain Chaos groups.
They also refrained from trespassing on their territory or recruiting within their borders.
More than that, Eden had dispatched wise envoys to quietly establish trade with some Chaos forces—selling looted armor at low prices.
Sometimes, they even gave away resources for free.
To close allies, they even sold high-quality weapons, armor, and rare relics.
Thanks to that, the Terror Legion had fostered good relations with many Chaos factions.
And within the Eye of Terror, where everyone viewed each other as enemies, the old adage held true: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
With Eden's generosity, who wouldn't want to be his friend?
Still, as Eden browsed recent reports on the Black Legion's latest activity, his brow furrowed.
Abaddon was starting to rally.
Which meant the Warmaster would soon become much harder to deal with—and the Black Legion might undergo a terrifying transformation.
But that was a concern for later.
Now, Eden could finally devote his full attention to the Plague War.
After arranging the Terror Legion's war preparations and strategic deployment, Eden's Chaos vessel became shrouded in thick black mist.
Only two crimson eyes glowed within the fog.
He logged out of this secondary body, and his consciousness returned to the Royal Court—to oversee the true battlefield of the Plague War.
For a long time ahead, he would have to juggle multiple fronts…
—
Sanctum World – Urth.
The massive warp-gate ring rotated slowly, as countless vessels moved through the system's spaceways.
Hundreds upon thousands of ships—belonging to different civilizations and sectors—converged through a web of complex warp routes.
They came here for different purposes: diplomacy, pilgrimage, commerce, logistics, education…
Billions upon billions passed through the gigantic orbital starports into this sanctified world, flowing into different regions.
It had become one of the Imperium's most prosperous zones.
Urth's original surface area could no longer sustain the ever-growing population, prompting the construction of several orbital megastructures encircling the planet.
These orbital rings had become home to countless departments.
For instance, the Ministry of Internal Affairs, which had expanded to over a billion staff, had long since relocated from the Royal Court to the rings.
Only the core offices remained within the Royal Court, always ready to receive orders from the Savior.
...
Tower Estate – Bedroom.
Eden awoke in a soft bed, his bare feet stepping onto an Eldoss Snowbeast fur rug as he walked to the balcony.
He stretched, reacquainting himself with his true form, and gazed outward.
Beyond the atmosphere, the orbital rings rotated, casting down holy light.
His vision stretched across lush greenery, with hints of blue oceans beyond.
In recent years, Urth had undergone multiple rounds of terraforming and god-tier construction. It had become a paradise—magnificent beyond imagination.
The planet was now home to tree-lined boulevards, majestic towers, irrigated gardens, and countless awe-inspiring sacred sites.
Most stunning of all—the Emperor's Statue, forged of rare metals and jewels, towering into the heavens and visible from space.
Its mere value could purchase entire planets.
Without a doubt, this was one of the most pleasant worlds in the galaxy.
According to meteorological reports, Urth's climate remained warm and gentle year-round. The skies were always clear and blue—free of any discomforting weather.
Global environmental regulators maintained perfect climate control.
A peaceful haven for all.
Here, among towering sacred spires and serene gardens, all visitors could find peace and beauty.
Pilgrims from the Savior's realm—and across countless other human worlds—flocked to experience the sanctity, spa treatments, and pay homage to the holy relic left by the Emperor: a single divine bloodstain.
And it was all free.
Every human had a chance to walk this world—especially citizens of the Savior's domain.
This was the pinnacle of human civilization—embodying its finest virtues: harmony, beauty, unity, kindness, and a vision of humanity's perfect future.
Urth Sanctum was leagues better than that rotten dump Holy Terra had become.
But no one dared say it aloud.
"…How wonderful."
Eden's enhanced vision watched the pilgrims and citizens of Urth as they rejoiced in peace.
Perhaps, in the future, as the Imperium grew ever richer, more and more citizens would be able to experience such bliss.
But slowly, his expression grew grave.
What lay before him—was just an illusion. A costly, fragile dream. A sliver of light amidst a sea of darkness.
Humanity was still drowning in that abyss, and light was an extravagant hope.
And now, that darkness had grown even deeper.
The Chaos God Nurgle had launched a brazen invasion of the galaxy—seeking to drag the Imperium into despair.
The peace and order of his domain might be shattered…
He had just received an emergency report—the Savior's territories had already come under plague assault.
(End of Chapter)
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