Chapter 415 - 416: Abaddon: They Have Returned, All of Them Have Returned!

Black Bastion – Viewing Platform.

"Plunder!"

"Let the galaxy burn!"

"Hail the great Warmaster of Chaos—!"

The roars of the Chaos Space Marines were deafening, their voices blending into a tide of war cries aimed at one figure: the leader of the Black Legion, the Despoiler of Worlds—Abaddon.

His hand would bring the False Emperor to ruin!

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Abaddon stepped forward, and the cheering surged like a storm.

He had regained his former majesty. His obsidian body was wreathed in the flames of Chaos, like a herald of hellish damnation.

Under his crimson gaze, the skies above the platform were filled with hideously twisted Chaos warships. Below, the plaza swarmed with serried ranks of Chaos warriors.

They raised their weapons and roared for war.

These were the reinforcements soon to embark.

Originally, Abaddon had no intention of deploying so many. According to the auguries, the initial expeditionary fleet had already breached deep into the Terror Legion's core territory, and had remained mostly intact.

That implied overwhelming dominance for the Black Legion. Only a small detachment would be necessary—to resupply, reinforce, and deal the killing blow.

Victory seemed certain.

But over the past days, warriors had ceaselessly petitioned to join the fight. They begged the Warmaster to let them destroy the Terror Legion.

To make the enemy pay for their arrogance.

Such zeal for war had not stirred within the Black Legion for many years.

Unwilling to disappoint his warriors, Abaddon grit his teeth and approved every request. He allowed them to assemble and set out in force.

Even if it meant a heavy toll on logistics.

Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—

Over a dozen Chaos warships, encrusted with spikes and tumorous growths, arrived and joined the fleet formation, expanding the shadow that loomed across the void.

These were not Black Legion vessels, but belonged to independent warbands—roving Chaos hosts that often straddled the line between mercenaries and pirates.

From time to time, they would follow greater powers on their campaigns of plunder.

The call to war against the Terror Legion had roused them. One after another, these warbands pledged themselves to the Warmaster and Despoiler's legend.

They arrived in force to join the reinforcement fleet.

It was a rare sight.

Since the 13th Black Crusade had dwindled and their holdings had been pillaged, Savadar had not seen such commotion.

In those dark days, many warbands had seceded from the Black Legion. Even repeated summons from the Despoiler had been met with scorn or silence—mocked by other major factions.

But now, as the Black Legion reignited war in the Eye of Terror, Abaddon's name seemed to be regaining its former glory.

Still, the sheer number of warbands arriving caught him off guard.

Overcome with excitement, Abaddon lavishly distributed arms and equipment to the arriving warbands. Even Black Legionaries who had pleaded for the right to join were gifted valuable wargear.

Under the growing influence of the Terror Legion, even the culture of Chaos Marines had shifted. More and more began grumbling about the old model of "bring your own rations" warfare.

Abaddon would not be called a stingy Warmaster.

This was a chance to display strength—to attract even more warriors to their banner.

To make an impression, Abaddon grit his teeth and handed over the last third of the Black Legion's supplies, equipping the reinforcement fleet to the teeth.

Now, they were several times stronger than the original fleet.

"They've returned—all of them have returned!"

Abaddon looked upon the vast fleet, blotting out the stars, and the well-armed warriors assembled.

His body trembled with emotion.

The scene before him took him back to the days of the First Black Crusade—when he was unstoppable, a scourge that conquered all before him.

Now that feeling had returned. The wave of resurgence was coming!

Abaddon steeled himself, suppressing the tremor in his limbs to avoid showing vulnerability.

He had to remain cruel. Unrelenting.

With a flourish, he drew his daemon sword.

"Warriors—tear the enemy apart like wolves! Burn their cities, scorch their worlds, crush the Terror Legion and annihilate them to the last!"

His sword pointed in the direction of Black Abyss.

That gesture was the signal.

The Chaos warriors erupted into war cries that shook the void. Like a tide of beasts, they rushed toward their landing craft.

Their battle fervor left no room for retreat. They took everything they owned with them, staking it all on this war.

Abaddon watched the reinforcements depart, heart aching over the resources spent. But it was a necessary investment—one that would strengthen the Black Legion.

And if they triumphed, plundering the riches of the Terror Legion, the return would be exponential.

"The Black Legion will rise again," he declared suddenly.

A Tzeentchian adjutant stepped forward obsequiously.

"Brilliant, my lord. Your wisdom blazes like the stars themselves, guiding us to victory. The Black Legion's flaming tide shall engulf the galaxy, incinerating corpse-worshippers and all who oppose us!"

Yet, the adjutant couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was… off about this reinforcement fleet.

...

Black Legion Reinforcement Fleet – Enclosed Warship Chamber

"What should we do… when the time comes?"

Erik, the warband leader, sat grim-faced at a stone round table with his closest brothers. The air was thick with tension.

Things had gotten out of hand.

Erik stared at the forbidden relic on the table—a communication device from the Dark Age of Technology. It allowed brief information exchange between paired artifacts.

But there was one limitation: it could only be used a limited number of times.

Now, only one use remained.

Days ago, Erik had received a message from his old brother-in-arms, Elia.

Elia claimed he had successfully joined the Terror Legion, becoming stronger than ever. He'd shared tantalizing details about Black Abyss that made Erik burn with envy.

He also said something strange—asking Erik not to contact him again.

Something about not making the Terror Legion suspicious.

It was blatant disassociation—as if Elia now looked down on his old comrades.

Erik was angry. But he craved that power too.

He wanted to lead his warband into the embrace of Diablo, to undergo his own transformation.

But there was no path forward.

Even if he escaped Savadar, he had no means to reach Black Abyss. The route was blocked by Warp storms, and no ordinary vessel could navigate them safely.

To make matters worse, the Terror Legion seemed to be closing recruitment.

He might have missed his only chance.

Then, hope arrived.

The Black Legion's fleet had met resistance. The Warmaster was considering reinforcements.

The moment Erik heard that, he led his warband in petitioning to join.

This was the perfect cover—to ride with the fleet and reach the Terror Legion's domain.

But the fleet grew larger than expected.

Too many Black Legionaries joined. More Chaos warbands arrived. The reinforcement force had swelled beyond control.

Now it was dangerous. The risk of betrayal had increased dramatically.

By the time the fleet left Savadar, it had over a thousand warships and over 50,000 Chaos warriors.

And with the Warmaster's lavish arming efforts…

Even compared to elite forces in the Eye of Terror, this fleet was no slouch.

It had become a force none could ignore.

Now Erik questioned everything.

Was defecting to the Terror Legion really the right choice?

What if they were crushed under the Black Legion's might?

"Time is running out. I need an answer."

Erik looked around at his silent comrades. The fate of their warband—and their lives—hung in the balance.

Would they seize control of a warship and offer it as proof of loyalty to the Terror Legion?

A Chaos warrior suddenly slammed his fist on the stone table.

"Join them! I can't take this life anymore!"

Centuries of monotonous war and hollow glory had drained them.

They needed something new. Something the Terror Legion promised—beyond just power.

One by one, they declared their support.

They would risk it all to defect, even if it meant eternal damnation.

Having made his choice, Erik immediately activated the relic and sent one final message to Elia—warning him that the Black Legion reinforcement fleet was en route.

So they could be ready.

After that final message, the forbidden relic crackled with black arcs of lightning—then collapsed into a heap of scrap.

Erik and his brothers quietly dispersed.

Each returned to their stations and began preparing for the moment they would seize the ship.

When the time came, this vessel would run red with blood.

...

Black Abyss – Grand Plaza

In the Dark Forge sector, the noise of mechanical pistons, wailing machine-spirits, and the screams of Chaos-born lifeforms was constant and jarring.

Having just returned from battle, the Terror Warriors had brought back a trove of blood points and now flooded the forges, scrambling to purchase artifacts and accessories from the altars.

None of them noticed that the prices had quietly increased—by at least 20%.

That decision had been made in secret by the Savior and Dark Prince—Eden.

It was quite the profiteering move.

Why? Because he had noticed a fascinating phenomenon—certain accessories were beginning to mutate under the influence of slaughter and fear energies. Some were evolving into powerful equipment.

One particularly ferocious Terror Warrior, who had slain dozens in a single rampage, had his blazing demon wings fuse permanently to his body—granting him the power of flight.

Such mutations weren't unheard of among Chaos Marines. Khorne's followers often grew organic armor, Nurgle's could sprout nests of flies to spread pestilence, Tzeentch's often gained raven wings—and the ones who served Slaanesh... well, they tended to grow rather indulgent mutations.

But Eden still felt like he'd undersold these treasures.

Compared to the random, grotesque transformations of other Chaos factions, these trophies were directed mutations—both elegant in form and powerful in effect.

They were fearsome, stylish, and battle-proven.

So he raised the prices.

Besides, the materials used to create these accessories weren't easy to gather. A little scarcity would only drive demand.

If they still sold well at higher prices?

Then raise them again.

He'd market them like high-end luxury goods—perhaps they'd become all the rage among the Chaos ranks. A fashion revolution of blood-soaked power baubles. He could already imagine warriors starving themselves or even selling their organs just to afford one.

Powerful, beautiful, and deadly—who could resist?

After all, no one but the Dark Prince himself had the production capacity—or the black oil-slathered servitors—to mass produce such masterpieces with rare materials.

"So expensive… When will I finally be able to afford one of these legendary relics?"

Elia stared longingly at a floating blue triangular eye hovering above the altar.

It was a symbol of the wise.

Though Elia now possessed a full set of armor and weapons, his desires had only grown deeper. He now sought something rarer, something truly transcendent.

The system established by the Dark Prince kept the warriors hungry—always craving more, never sated.

There was no end.

"Hope war breaks out soon..."

He glanced at his measly pile of blood points and sighed.

He'd just completed basic training.

To train new recruits, Eden had ordered Heart of Terror to pull more derelict space hulks from the Warp—perfect instances for live-combat training simulations.

Elia had spent weeks clearing one such hulk, earning only a modest stipend in blood points.

He used what he had to purchase weapons and specialized ammo.

He knew one truth: only by growing stronger could he earn more.

Suddenly, he sensed a change. Reaching into his gear, he retrieved the forbidden relic—his old comrade Erik had sent a message.

After reading it, Elia was overjoyed.

The intelligence it contained could bring him unimaginable rewards. He'd finally be able to afford his dream accessory!

...

The Demon Palace – Throne Hall

"This is bad..."

Eden leaned forward on his black throne, poring over a dataslate held delicately in his clawed gauntlet—afraid he might crush it by accident.

Currently, the Terror Legion possessed nearly a thousand Chaos warships and over 50,000 warriors.

Most of them were still undergoing training—but they could be mobilized at a moment's notice.

Things were going splendidly. Everything was moving according to plan. The future was radiant.

Just two more years...

And he'd have eighty thousand elite Terror Warriors and an arsenal capable of breaking worlds.

A devastating army for the wars to come.

But the universe rarely cared for such plans.

Suddenly, an urgent battle report disrupted everything, forcing Eden to prematurely cut short his power-building phase.

It was a high-priority message from the Royal District—concerning the Regent's territory, the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.

The Plague War had begun.

For months, Ultramar and the Savior's domain had been monitoring the movements of Nurgle's forces, deploying fleets and reinforcing border sectors.

Dozens of recon fleets patrolled the surrounding systems nonstop.

But they had no idea where or when the enemy might strike—so they simply prepared as best they could.

Yet Nurgle's power proved overwhelming.

In just three days, the entire northern perimeter of Ultramar fell silent. Every recon fleet was annihilated. Not a single signal escaped.

A region nearly half the size of Ultramar itself had gone dark.

It had become a black hole—swallowing every Imperial force sent into it.

The Imperium now referred to it as the Scourge Stars—a swath of realspace devoured by Warp corruption. The storms there were apocalyptic, rivaling those found inside the Eye of Terror.

Nurgle's invasion had begun with dreadful precision.

Some Warp scholars even feared the worst—that the Scourge Stars might evolve into a new Eye of Terror.

The black scar was still expanding, steadily encroaching on the Imperium's jewel: the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.

Nurgle's intent was unmistakable.

He sought to consume Ultramar whole, to fulfill some sinister and unspeakable purpose.

Lord Regent Roboute Guilliman had entrusted the Obscurus Sector's ongoing wars to the second fleet of the Indomitus Crusade, while drawing reinforcements to his personal flagship.

He was now personally leading the First Fleet in a desperate return to Ultramar.

"Let's hope the old man can hold the line," Eden muttered darkly. "Better not get dragged off to Nurgle's garden right away…"

His own Savior's domain had yet to complete its military preparations. Too many projects were still in their final phases—he couldn't mobilize quickly.

And worse...

It could be a trap.

What if he sent his entire army to Ultramar—only to have the Chaos moth swarms raze his homeworld in his absence?

That would be an even greater tragedy than Cadia.

At the moment, the Terror Legion was the only force he could deploy freely.

The rest had to hold the lines—until the situation became clearer.

That was the cost of empire. The larger your realm, the more vulnerable it became.

The Imperium had to guard half the galaxy. Eden's burden was smaller—but still heavy.

After analyzing the situation, he decided: the Terror Legion would march for the Ultramar sector in one month.

He no longer had the luxury of skirmishing with rival Chaos forces.

But just as he was about to issue the order, the Dark Thunder Guard arrived—dragging a new recruit named Elia into the throne room.

Elia brought grim news:

"The Black Legion has dispatched more reinforcements—several times stronger than before."

Eden rewarded Elia handsomely.

But once the warrior had left, Eden fell into deeper thought.

"When it rains, it pours..."

He wasn't afraid of losing the battle.

He was afraid of losing time—and worse, that Abaddon might personally lead this new wave.

He didn't have time to get bogged down in a prolonged clash with that lunatic.

"Looks like I'll have to deal with this fast."

He summoned the Terror Legion's Wise Men, issued new covert orders for deployment inside the Eye of Terror…

Then gave the command:

Prepare for war. Mobilize the entire Legion.

This battle would not be an easy one.

...

Warpstorm Zone

The Black Legion's reinforcement fleet had begun to scatter as they entered the storm-lashed region, nearing the Terror Legion's borders.

Aboard one of the Chaos warband ships—Bridge

As soon as they crossed into the storm, silence fell across the bridge.

A dark pressure brewed in the air.

Erik's breathing quickened.

He exchanged glances with his loyal brothers.

They were waiting—for the moment everything would change. Their fate balanced on a knife's edge.

"Strike!"

Suddenly, they attacked as one—lunging with power weapons toward nearby Black Legion Marines.

"Now!"

"Attack!"

"Take their heads!"

But as their weapons swung through the air—

—they met immediate resistance.

To their shock, every other Chaos warrior on the bridge also launched an ambush at that exact moment.

Blades met in midair, crackling with energy.

Then all froze.

They stared at one another—stunned by the synchronized betrayal.

Then…

Weapons were lowered.

They chuckled. They nodded.

They had seen the look in each other's eyes—

—and knew they were all on the same side.

(End of Chapter)

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