Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 408 - 409: Savior – Warrior, Do You Crave Power?

Black Abyss.

The planet's terrain was slowly morphing under the warp's distortion, its surface layered with black bedrock formed from countless scorched and collapsed corpses.

"When will days like this ever end...?"

Gorrat dragged a heavy, square stone block. The friction of the vine binding it caused his wounds to split open again, leaking dark ichor.

He endured the stinging pain and itching from the wounds. Several of his tentacles tightened around the vine and dragged the block forward—each step a tormenting struggle.

And he had to stay alert at all times.

Because on the other side of the mountain path was a lake of blood floating in the void. Fireballs hovered above its surface, glowing faintly.

Occasionally, ghostly creatures would leap from the lake and drag people away.

In this warp-infused world of chaotic will, bizarre and contradictory landscapes were jumbled together in surreal disarray.

Around Gorrat were more malformed tribesmen dragging similar blocks. They were now all referred to by a single term: thralls.

Thralls were forced to mine stone from the Gray Mountains and haul it to designated stable ground to build palaces for their overlords.

It was grueling labor.

"Something's wrong!"

Suddenly, Gorrat was yanked violently.

He turned—one of the young ones from his tribe was tugging at him, his deformed mouth twitching with fear.

"Kid, we can't afford to delay. Do you want to taste the punishment of the outworld warriors?"

The boy pointed skyward. "T-the black star is back!"

"What?!"

Gorrat's expression changed. He immediately looked up.

Around him, the other thralls reacted similarly.

Through the gaps in the boiling clouds, illuminated by flashes of lightning, they saw it—a massive, black, circular object. They called it the Black Star.

It was an omen of calamity.

Years ago, their people had seen the same Black Star. Some shamans called it a divine gift. Others warned of catastrophe.

The latter were right.

Shortly after the Black Star's appearance, storms tore through the sky, and meteors rained down. With them came the outworld warriors, descending upon the mountains.

These invaders crushed the tribal warriors with ease and enslaved them.

But the outworld warriors were not a united force. Once they adjusted to the environment, they began warring among themselves—using the enslaved thralls to plunder land and resources in this barren world.

Now that the Black Star had returned, the thralls feared something even more terrible was about to happen.

—

At the palace construction site of Budia.

Chaos Champion Kryon sat upon a stone-carved throne, overlooking the swarms of thralls laboring below.

He wore crude iron armor. Beside him leaned a blood-stained weapon wreathed in malevolent energies—shaped like a power sword, though utterly devoid of any actual technological components.

Weapon crafting required industrial infrastructure—dark forges and daemon smiths. These stripped-down Chaos warriors had nothing of the sort and couldn't even forge decent weapons.

"What disgraceful days… How much longer must we be trapped on this wretched rock…"

Kryon seized a slab of rotting meat from an unknown creature and shoved it into his mouth. Greasy juices splattered as he chewed.

The Eye of Terror was already a barren hell, a prison for traitors and the fallen. Now, they were stranded in an even worse place—on a desolate Chaos world, with no way out.

To survive, they consumed rotten roots, bloated mutant flesh, and drank the blood of the thralls.

He missed the days of plunder.

Back then, he could savor Imperial wine and fresh meat. The blood of an Imperial soldier was particularly sweet.

This Chaos Champion longed to return to the stars, to rejoin the galactic war.

"My lord, shall we raid that camp of depraved Slaaneshi degenerates?"

A Khorne warrior approached, shouldering a spiked iron club.

"No. Not worth it…"

Kryon wiped his mouth and tossed the still-twitching chunk of foul meat back on the plate. It tasted as disgusting as rotted Nurgle flesh.

This childish mimicry of war was meaningless. Their junk weapons couldn't kill the enemy, and vice versa.

The other bastards were likely just as tired of it—recently, attacks had dwindled in frequency.

Suddenly, Kryon sensed something.

He rose from the throne and gazed skyward with a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

Above the roiling clouds appeared several Chaos warships—and a half-dome void fortress.

Perhaps salvation had come at last!

As he began rallying the Chaos warriors—

A twisted, raspy melody and whispers trembled through the atmosphere.

Whoosh—

A Chaos landing craft roared through the skies, boldly descending in front of the encampment. Massive drop pods crashed like meteors onto the ground, smashing buildings and shattering statues and altars painstakingly erected by the Chaos warriors.

"Warriors! Take up arms! This may be our final battle here!"

Kryon sensed menace in the arrival and began his battle speech. He couldn't bear rotting in this hell any longer.

Under his lead, the Chaos warriors grabbed their weapons and charged at the landing craft like wolves surrounding prey.

This was their last gamble.

If they succeeded, they could seize the vessel and its gear—and possibly escape this planet.

If fortune smiled upon them, some might even stow away on the Chaos warship and take control of it.

Then, they could finally be free.

Kryon, as a Chaos Champion, believed that with weapons and armor, he could make it happen.

He always managed to reap glorious spoils in the most desperate of circumstances.

Soon, the Chaos warriors launched their charge.

But the closer they drew, the tighter Kryon's chest grew—his instincts screamed a terrible entity was about to descend.

The ramp of the Chaos landing craft dropped.

Thud. Thud. Thud—

Heavy armored boots stomped down the ramp. Raspy growls echoed from the dark interior.

Eight massive figures—over three meters tall—emerged: heavily armored Dark Thunder Guardians, their weapons aglow with blood-red Chaos energy, radiating destructive might.

Even their mere presence rivaled that of any Chaos Champion.

Then came the infernal heavily-armored chicken-thief daemons, every step shaking the ground.

The Chaos warriors' momentum faltered.

"AAAH—!"

One enraged Chaos warrior lunged, swinging a Chaos-imbued iron axe at a Thunder Guardian.

Clang!

The axe shattered upon impact with the obsidian power armor.

Everything froze.

The Chaos warriors stopped in their tracks.

Now, they could feel the insurmountable gulf between their makeshift weapons and the real thing.

The Thunder Guardian looked down at the foolish attacker, his blood-red eyes filled with disdain.

He snatched the axe and crushed it in his grip:

"Trash. You dare challenge me with this junk?"

Then he smashed his fist into the Khorne warrior, slamming him to the ground, and stomped him underfoot.

"You will not make us retreat!"

This provoked Kryon and the others into a fury. They roared like enraged beasts.

But the Dark Thunder Guardians sensed something else and ignored them. They stood at attention respectfully.

Even the daemon chicken-thieves lined up obediently. (Genesteaters)

"Silence!"

The Thunder Guardian squad leader's roar silenced the enraged Chaos warriors.

At the same time—

The twisted melody crescendoed.

Everyone's minds were forcibly injected with a message:

The great Dark Prince, the Nameless Daemon, is descending upon this world.

Moments later, the ground erupted with a seething blood-red summoning circle.

From the mist, cloaked in hellfire, emerged Eden —his terrifying daemon form towering above the Chaos warriors. A greater daemon shadow loomed in the sky behind him.

His flame-filled eyes stared down at the crowd:

"Your master has arrived. This marks the beginning of your glory… and the end of your fear."

The Chaos warriors gazed up in stunned silence at the terrifying figure. They didn't know how to react.

Eden's eyes swept across them without giving them time to respond. With a twist of warp energy, he snatched one of them from the crowd and pulled him before him.

"Stop!"

Kryon's face twisted in rage as he saw who had been seized.

The one captured was a crippled Dreadnought pilot—once his mentor before the rebellion. He was a respected veteran among the warriors.

It was only because of their care that this maimed warrior, who had lost most of his limbs and had been stripped of his Dreadnought armor, was still alive.

The moment the Dark Prince seized him, unrest broke out among the Chaos warriors.

"Warriors, calm yourselves—lest you bring about an even worse outcome."

Eden's raspy voice echoed. Around him, the Dark Thunder Guardians and heavy-armored chicken-thief daemons raised their weapons, silencing the crowd with menace.

"D-demon… World Eaters… do not submit!"

The captured warrior, with no legs and only stumps for arms, was tangled in mechanical cables. Black blood still oozed from his deep wounds.

Yet even in such a state, he resisted. Wrapped in warp energy, he still struggled, trying to lash out at the daemon that held him.

Eden stared at him with a jagged grin. "Your courage is admirable, warrior."

He extended a tendril of Chaos power and healed the warrior's wounds, soothing the torment in his shattered mind.

The Chaos warriors, including Kryon, began to calm. Perhaps this Dark Prince did not come with pure malice.

As for those who failed to calm—well, they were already beaten down.

Without armor or real weapons, they were no different from mortals against the Thunder Guardians and daemon warriors.

Having finished, Eden asked with a coaxing tone, "Dreadnought warrior… do you wish for a new body—to return to battle?"

The warrior froze, clearly stirred. Of course he longed for a new Dreadnought shell, to unleash his fury through chain-blades and boltfire, rather than rot like a maggot.

BOOM—

Eden raised a hand. A nearby chamber, wreathed in thick warp energy, cracked open—revealing a terrifying war machine.

A brand-new Chaos Dreadnought, nearly five meters tall, stepped into view. Adorned with blasphemous runes, skulls, and iron spikes, it bristled with weaponry.

Twin-linked heavy bolters and a spinning chainblade burned with infernal red flame.

It was forged in alliance with the forge-world of Galiuum, with a dark artist—wanted by the Inquisition—invited to aid in its design.

Its power and aesthetic surpassed any makeshift Chaos war engine.

Compared to this, the Dreadnoughts of local warbands were mere scrap-heaps.

Eden had studied the minds of traitor Astartes—many still clung to their human reason, albeit twisted.

They weren't simply madmen—they were poor fanatics obsessed with war and violence as per their faiths.

Having lost stable supply chains, they fought with salvaged or looted equipment, patching it together as best they could.

To win these warriors, Eden knew the key was to offer them better weapons—and greater power.

He was pleased with the dark artist's work and offered him protection. Plans were already underway to establish Chaos forges and produce more devastating weapons for his war machine.

"I need a weapon…"

The maimed warrior gazed at the armored Dreadnought, desire surging within him.

It was stronger, more complete than his last body.

Eden sliced his wrist with a claw, and a drop of warp-tainted blood hovered in the air.

He offered it with a decree:

"Take it—and you will receive everything you desire!"

The warrior hesitated only briefly, then nodded and swallowed the drop.

Instantly, dark energies engulfed him. Horns sprouted from his flesh, and his cables twisted like living creatures.

It was a blood pact—a blessing of Chaos. An old method, dressed in a new form.

"You've made the right choice."

Eden nodded approvingly and warped the warrior to the Dreadnought cockpit.

The hatch opened.

The warrior clambered in eagerly. The internal cabling latched onto him and fused them together.

BZZZZT—

With the hatch sealed, the servo-engines roared.

"SLAUGHTER!"

The war machine blazed with warp-fire. It marched forward, its chainsword whirling madly, roaring in madness.

The Dreadnought bowed slightly before the Dark Prince—an oath of fealty.

Eden turned toward a newly manifested altar, shaped from black warpstone, and sliced open his wrist once more, spilling more corrupted blood.

The altar absorbed it. A shallow pool at its center filled with thick, bubbling crimson ichor—as if endless.

He turned to Kryon and the others.

"Now, it's your turn. Accept this gift—or die."

Kryon took a deep breath, staring at the Dark Prince. "And the price?"

Eden's mouth twisted into a terrifying smile, fangs gleaming.

With a wave of his hand, all the chamber doors flew open—revealing racks of Chaos power armor and weapons.

"All of this."

The gear shimmered with infernal flame and raw menace.

If the old gear was like battlefield scraps, these were master-crafted Chaos relics—some likely forged by daemon-bound artisans.

The sight sent the Chaos warriors into a frenzy. They gasped in awe, eyes wide with longing.

They'd been trapped here too long—sick of fighting with rusted junk.

Eden continued:

"This is a blessing beyond compare. Drink—and you will obtain everything you desire. Under the Nameless Daemon's guidance…"

"…You will set the galaxy ablaze with war!"

He locked eyes with Kryon.

"But this gift won't last. Your time is running out."

The pool in the altar was beginning to dry.

The Chaos warriors couldn't hold back any longer—they surged toward the altar.

One by one, they drank the cursed blood, forging their own blood pacts.

Those who drank first transformed visibly—new horns, scales, and demonic mutations erupted.

They were granted the first pick of the armory—donned terrifying Chaos power armor and chose their weapons.

It was the richest moment of their lives since betrayal. From scraps to high-tier wargear.

The others quickly followed, racing to take the gift.

It was the only path to rebirth.

As for trying to steal it?

Those who did were instantly vaporized.

Before long, hundreds of Chaos warriors knelt before the Dark Prince—Eden, the Nameless Daemon.

Fully armed, surging with bloodlust, they awaited his order to march into the galaxy once more.

Upon his obsidian throne, Eden looked down at his new army of Chaos loyalists.

Under his will, the warp reshaped the region. The half-built palace became a towering Black Demon Citadel.

Above it, a black sun rose.

This was only the beginning.

He would rally more Chaos warriors, join the coming Plague Wars, and wrest territory from the Dark Gods themselves.

The name of the Dark Prince—the Nameless Daemon—would spread across the Eye of Terror and far beyond.

Until no one could forget it.

(End of Chapter)

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