Inside the Demon Palace.
Eden sat upon the Black Throne, his Chaos-forged body shrouded in thick black mist, only a pair of glowing crimson eyes faintly visible.
From now on, unless absolutely necessary, this would be his default appearance when meeting others.
Beyond maintaining an air of mystery, it also allowed him to switch identities with ease. As for communication, he would either use warp-energy transmission or rely on trusted intermediaries.
Thus, a reliable core cadre was essential.
That core included eight Dark Thunder Honor Guards and several dozen demon raiders—his inner circle.
Half of them would remain stationed at his side at all times, empowered to act in his name. The other half would be embedded within the growing Chaos legions as pillars of strength.
Clang, clang, clang—
Boots rang out in rhythmic unison across the great hall. The Dark Thunder Honor Guards stepped forward and bowed with respect.
"My lord, your commands have been carried out."
Just moments ago, this warrior had spread the Dark Prince's decree across Black Abyss—the proclamation that Eden now ruled this Chaos world, and that all who dwelled upon it must submit or face annihilation.
Eden nodded with satisfaction, his gaze falling on the hulking, three-meter-tall warrior before him.
These Chaos soldiers rivaled any Chaos Champion—some had even reached the level of Chaos Lords.
And they would only grow stronger as his command over the Warp deepened.
In the parlance of Chaos, these Dark Thunder Honor Guards were his Chosen.
Specially handpicked to form the backbone of his military force, their selection had initially surprised him—he hadn't expected many volunteers. Yet the Thunder Warriors had flocked to him with feverish enthusiasm.
They yearned to serve the Savior. And besides, who would pass up the chance to gain more power?
Ultimately, only eight were chosen.
Some were brutally savage in combat. Others were cunning, daring, or administratively capable—unconventional, but perfectly suited for the Chaos cause.
Eden bestowed upon them the Dark Blessing, transforming them into Chaos Warriors.
Their forms swelled, erupting with darkened traits—bony spikes, mutated limbs, demonic organs. More importantly, their combat strength surged dramatically.
When Carter heard about it, the man ran out of the ICU in the middle of the night, practically begging for his own Dark Blessing.
He was desperate to grow stronger!
But Eden refused and gave him a stern reprimand.
The Dark Blessing did indeed grant great power—but it came with side effects, hidden weaknesses that could be exploited. Vulnerability to holy energies, or susceptibility to banishment rituals.
After his scolding, Eden reassured Carter and promised that when the time was right, he would receive three full blessings.
Sensing a shift outside the palace, Eden turned his gaze outward—another wave of Chaos warriors banished to Black Abyss had arrived.
…
Along a jagged path…
"Hurry! We must reach the throne before the next eclipse!"
A band of Chaos warriors, clad in mismatched, garishly colored armor, raced through the wasteland.
Any Chaos lifeform foolish enough to block their path was butchered without hesitation.
Up ahead, the silhouette of the Demon Palace floated in midair—but it was only a mirage. In the realm of Chaos, geography defied reason. Terrain twisted and inverted, space and time warped at random.
Reaching the real palace required much more time—and luck.
These Chaos warriors had received a summons from the Demon Palace:
The Dark Prince, the Nameless Daemon, had conquered and now ruled this Chaos world. All life was commanded to present themselves in submission before him.
At first, the warriors scoffed. Who did this unknown, untested daemon think he was?
Even Abaddon the Despoiler hadn't earned their loyalty—why should this no-name upstart?
But then they saw the broadcast.
Their old rivals—those they had fought beside or against for centuries—now basked in prosperity. Better gear, better treatment, better life.
Fearful of missing out, they packed immediately and departed.
At this point, it wasn't about pride anymore. If your fellow Chaos brother just pulled up in a Land Raider thanks to the Dark Prince, you couldn't afford to be left behind!
The transmission had shaken the Chaos underworld to its core.
For eons, only a few—like the Iron Warriors—possessed the means to forge and supply their own arms. The rest lived in brutal poverty.
Their weapons were outdated, their armor patched and broken. Their only chance at survival lay in plunder.
Even a single suit of Terminator armor could start wars within warbands.
To claim such gear, one had to fight—losers stripped of dignity and armor.
More unscrupulous factions didn't even bother with duels. They simply stole.
Any Chaos warrior wearing advanced armor lived in constant fear of ambush.
For Space Marines—loyalist or not—gear was precious. Even the Imperium required entire planetary networks to supply its Legions.
Chaos-controlled regions were worse. Scarcity ruled all.
Only the warlord's bodyguards received consistent resupply.
Everyone else? Don't even dream.
Thus, Chaos warriors followed power—not out of devotion, but necessity. Wherever a warlord launched a massive crusade, they rallied, hoping to grab spoils.
They fought to survive. Looted to remain armed. With luck, they'd earn themselves a new suit or weapon.
Indeed, most of the gear Chaos warriors wore was ripped from Imperial corpses.
Otherwise, there was no way they could still wield functioning power armor and bolters after millennia of war.
Abaddon had used this system brilliantly. His unmatched dueling record and the fury of his Black Crusades gathered countless warriors to his banner.
It was war-forged momentum. Self-sustaining. Victory fed the army.
But it came at a cost—should his streak break, or his name falter, those same legions would crumble.
Now, the mysterious Dark Prince offered something new.
He welcomed any warrior willing to swear a Blood Pact. In exchange, he offered not only power, but complete wargear—top-tier equipment, fresh from the forge.
Better still, he promised ceaseless war. Endless opportunity for plunder and glory.
In short—the Dark Prince was worth serving.
ROAR—
A horned Khorne berserker bellowed as he shredded the beasts in his way, charging faster.
He had waited long enough in this cursed land. His soul yearned for war.
To stoke his army's fire, the Dark Prince introduced a new merit system. Every Chaos warrior in his service could ascend through a clear and equitable promotion structure.
Like Khorne's path of blood, but more refined—covering every aspect of service.
Kills. Campaigns. Loyalty. Years of service—all would be measured and rewarded.
Eden had designed the system meticulously—even years of service were logged.
In theory, even a lazy soldier could eventually earn wealth through tenure. Though war-glory would always bring faster, greater rewards.
Rewards included not just Warp power, but real spoils: master-crafted Terminator armor, exotic weapons, Centurion armor, daemon mounts, Hell Drake flyers—everything imaginable.
"TER… TERMINATOR! MINE!!!"
The berserker snarled. A century ago, he had once worn Terminator armor.
Then one day—blackout. When he woke, his armor and weapons were gone.
He had been stripped, humiliated. Lost everything.
Years of battle followed, trying to reclaim his glory—but always hindered by inferior gear.
His last attempt was especially painful—he tried to steal armor from a wounded Ultramarine, only to be savagely beaten near to death.
Only later did he learn that "blue can" was a Primaris—son of a Grey Shield—one of the Imperium's newest elite.
Now, hope burned in his chest.
A second chance. A new beginning. Under this daemon lord, he would rise again.
Thud—
Suddenly, a partial body slammed to the ground.
It was a Chaos Dreadnought.
With its few remaining limbs, it flipped itself over to look toward its comrades.
But the other Chaos warriors were too focused on running—they hadn't even noticed their half-dead brother had fallen off.
"Brothers! Wait! Don't leave me behind!"
The Dreadnought snarled, dragging itself forward with servo-cables.
"Damn it! You forgot me, you bastards!"
As the others vanished into the distance, the wounded dread dragged itself onward.
Because if it could just reach the palace… a brand-new Dreadnought chassis awaited.
…
Outside the Demon Palace, at the massive plaza…
"Where is the Dark Prince? We demand an audience!"
Hundreds of Chaos warriors surged onto the plaza, shouting eagerly.
BAM BAM BAM—
No voice answered them.
Instead, multiple heavy-caliber gun barrels rotated into position.
A barrage of heavy rounds ripped across the square, punching deep holes into the stone beneath their feet.
Dust exploded skyward.
Fortunately, the heavy firepower had only swept across the ground—if the rounds had actually targeted them, these unarmored Chaos warriors would've been obliterated.
"Silence!"
From within the rising dust, a figure emerged—flanked by two brutish Centurion Devastators.
Kryon was fully armed as he addressed the gathered Chaos warriors. "You must bind yourselves in blood pact before you may seek audience with the Lord."
He glanced at the ragged group before him and couldn't help but run his hand across the hilt of his master-crafted power sword.
This Chaos Champion felt a rare twinge of awe. Not even during his time in the Imperium had he been treated so lavishly. That Lord was truly generous.
"Kryon, we're willing to sign the pact!"
A Tzeentchian Champion stepped forward after calming his rowdy troops. He had to restrain the more hot-headed among them before turning toward Kryon.
The Dark Prince offered too much—so much that not signing the pact felt riskier.
The Tzeentch Champion looked at Kryon, envy flashing in his blue eyes.
That old rival was now decked in nothing but master-crafted gear. His sword alone was nearly a legendary relic!
The Champion sighed inwardly. He had arrived too late to claim such rewards… but he still held hope. He believed he could thrive within the Dark Prince's system—and maybe even find ways to bend the rules.
Led by Kryon, the Chaos warriors marched deeper into the plaza—toward the Bloodpact Altar.
The massive square had been messily divided into zones: food and supply, training fields, arenas, and more. All tailored to fit the chaotic habits of Chaos warriors.
There was no point in trying for refined management—these were creatures of disorder and madness.
As they passed the food zone, blood and fresh meat were strewn everywhere. Dozens of warriors feasted on massive grox beasts.
Devouring them with primal delight.
Indeed—food, lodging, and equipment were all included.
Thankfully, Chaos warriors weren't picky eaters.
There was no need for nutritional planning. Just drag herds of grox or Orvega beasts over from agri-worlds and dump them here.
No butchering necessary—they'd eat them raw, bones and all. You could probably toss in a batch of antelope-beasts and they'd tear them apart live.
In the deeper end of the feeding zone, a massive blood pool roiled with dark Warp energy.
Some Chaos warriors wrestled within its depths, basking in the energies that radiated from the pool.
It stirred the very DNA of the Khorne-aligned warriors. This place was sacred.
Next, they passed the training fields.
Their eyes widened at the gleaming weapons and flawless armor on display. Compared to their old junk, it was like walking into a dream.
These freshly-forged instruments of war perfectly satisfied their lust for destruction.
Even the aesthetics were catered to their tastes.
Fully armed Chaos warriors fired, bombed, and trained across the field, getting accustomed to their new gear and experimenting with specialized warp munitions.
"Ahh… such glorious firepower! It deserves to blaze across battlefields!"
One warrior sighed in ecstasy. He yearned for more destructive payloads.
And the Dark Prince had promised just that. Infinite ammo, endless ordnance.
This was another reason Chaos warriors flocked to him.
People assumed they liked melee—but really, it was because they were always out of ammo.
A few bursts, and you were empty. Of course you had to charge in and start swinging!
They were Chaos Space Marines—not brainless berserkers (aside from the actual Berserkers). Given the choice, anyone would prefer to mow enemies down from a distance!
The warriors finally arrived at the altar. One by one, they signed their pacts and received the Dark Blessing.
And many grew significantly stronger.
Not long after, the one-horned Khorne Berserker stared blankly at the brand-new suit of Terminator armor handed to him.
His tiny brain struggled to comprehend.
This armor was far better than anything he'd worn before!
He hadn't even done anything! He'd just mentioned that he used to be a Chaos Terminator when registering, and they gave him back his lost honor?!
He recalled the pact ceremony—it felt similar to receiving Khorne's power, only faster and more direct.
He stared at the new blood-flame-covered Terminator suit, and a bold thought struck him:
"The Dark Prince is way more generous than the Blood God…"
...
Several Months Later…
On the far side of Black Abyss—
BOOM BOOM BOOM—
The thunder of machinery echoed through a deep canyon, as plumes of black smoke rose skyward.
A Dark Mechanicum Forge-City was under construction.
"Lord Dark Prince… in three standard Terran months, this city will be fully operational."
Maoh bowed deeply. The grand archmagos of the Daemon Research Institute now looked fully like a Dark Tech-priest, having accepted the blood pact.
"Make it sooner. We need more daemon engines," Eden ordered.
Recently, he had relocated portions of the Daemon Research Institute, Chaos Weapons Laboratory, and Plague Institute to Black Abyss.
These labs had grown far too reckless—especially the Daemon Institute.
Those cogboys had started breeding daemonic lifeforms, babbling about "knowing your enemy."
And the Plague Institute? Dangerous by design.
Their studies of high-transmission virulent pathogens had become insanely risky.
One leak nearly caused a global catastrophe. Had Eden not purified the outbreak in time, they would've created legions of undead—and handed Nurgle a victory.
So he moved them here. Better isolated. Less risk to his Savior territories.
And since they were already half heretek anyway, he just gave them the Dark Blessing too.
Now they were easier to control—and far less of a headache.
Maoh had rushed to volunteer the moment he heard. Overjoyed.
His primary focus now was building and forging Hell Drakes and other daemon engines—free from annoying Inquisition oversight.
This grandmaster of daemon-forging had once used raw warp energies for his crafts. Now, he wielded the power of the Dark Prince—far more efficient and stable.
"Damn, this is getting way out of hand…"
Eden muttered, feeling a twinge of guilt.
He'd just wanted a temporary Chaos faction. Raise some troops. Launch a few raids. Poke the Chaos Gods.
Now things were becoming… official. The system was stabilizing. A full-fledged faction was taking shape.
"Eh, guess we'll run dual tracks—Empire and Chaos…"
Eden consoled himself.
After all, the Imperium was teetering. It needed radical action.
And this way, he hedged both sides.
He could study Chaos to fight Chaos, giving humanity a potential edge.
And—well—if worst came to worst and the Emperor really did ascend… or worse, become the Fifth Chaos God…
Then at least Eden had his own Chaos faction to lean on. He could keep working under the new regime and keep smacking the other gods.
In every scenario, he wins. It's the loyal thing to do.
"Dark Prince boss! I brought my boys and ships over!"
Kaul shouted excitedly, looking every bit the black-market cogboy. He eyed Maoh with envy. "Hey uh… think I could work here too?"
"What do you think?"
Eden shot him a cold smile.
"…I-I was just asking…"
Feeling the pressure of warp authority, Kaul immediately backed off and zipped his lips.
This Savior… was scarier than ever.
Eden looked skyward—saw a massive drydock and the massive frame of the Omen Ark drifting into orbit.
"Can you really finish building that Ark?"
"There's nothing genius Kaul can't do!"
Kaul beamed. "I've got a full reserve of dark-forging techniques—and I've got Mini-Webby to help. Her databanks include Ark schematics."
"How long?"
"Two years, tops. Most of the work's already done—we're just wrapping up."
"Good."
Eden nodded. "Also—you'll report to the Inquisition. In full. You'll explain everything about your dark-forging stash."
Had the Ark project not come up, Eden might never have found out how buddy-buddy Kaul had gotten with the hereteks—or that he had a whole cache of forbidden tech.
Kaul had gotten cocky. Too active in the forums. His alt account had practically become a leader among the Dark Tech-priests.
Worse, he'd led a smear campaign against Moss's improved fuel drink, promoting his own "authentic formula" instead—and stolen a market advantage.
Moss was furious. Rumors said he was already designing a newer, stronger blend.
Kaul needed a reality check.
"Oh…"
Kaul visibly wilted. The thought of dealing with Deville and enduring more Inquisitorial scrutiny took the wind out of him.
Eden ignored him and strode back into the palace.
The Omen Ark would take time. He had other plans to initiate.
Now, every Chaos warrior on Black Abyss had sworn loyalty, received upgraded gear, and was howling for blood.
Time to unleash them—turn them into a walking advertisement.
A show of power. A recruitment campaign.
Eden looked out across the twisting void of space—more Chaos transports were arriving daily.
The lords of the Eye of Terror had been far too stingy. Their warriors lived like scavengers. That couldn't continue.
For the sake of his Chaos brothers—it was time to raise the bar.
Let the arms race begin.
(End of Chapter)
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