[New Fanfic Is UP!! Uma Musume: Rising From the Countryside to Legend!!]
The Khorne Chaos Champion was pinned underfoot, his gaze fixed on the daemonic power axe above him, feeling the destructive power radiating from the weapon.
There wasn't a single follower of Khorne who could resist such a potent instrument of slaughter.
He even believed that, were he to wield that weapon, he could turn the tide of battle.
In his daze, the Khorne Champion saw something else.
Floating above the power axe was a dark crystal. Its surface was a corrupted black, but its core throbbed with dark red liquid like a beating heart, pulsing with a dim, ominous glow.
The entire crystal trembled faintly with every pulse of light.
Coughing up a mouthful of black blood, he struggled to ask, "What... is that?"
"A gift from the Lord of Terror…" Kryon replied coldly. "Swallow it, and you will be embraced by His ever-present gaze. You shall have everything."
It was, in truth, an improved version of the Blood Pact Blessing, inspired by the soulstones of the Aeldari. Its form resembled a Soulstone straight out of Diablo, a twisted beauty full of dark, malevolent allure.
The blessings of the Chaos Gods were like cruel examinations—full of torment, anguish, and emotional extremes, especially Nurgle's infamous Sevenfold Plague.
It was the embodiment of anti-human cruelty.
By contrast, the Lord of Terror's blessing was generous to the point of absurdity.
All you had to do was swallow the bloodstone—and power would be yours. Instant, unquestionable, with no hidden terms.
And new recruits to the material universe even received a newcomer bundle: full armor sets, infinite ammunition, luxury dwellings, vehicles, and more.
He was desperate for followers.
It was inevitable.
The Chaos Gods had reigned for countless centuries, dominating the warp and the galaxy with unshakeable foundations.
For a nascent god—unknown, unnamed—to gain belief and faith was nearly impossible.
The warp was littered with minor Chaos demigods.
But they were largely forgotten, spreading their cults in isolated backwaters, always one step away from being purged by the Inquisition.
Worse still, many had no followers at all, surviving like scavengers off loose scraps of warp energy—barely more than cosmic beggars.
Of course, there were exceptions.
Take Vashtorr the Arkifane, the Daemon Demigod and Warp-smith, who carved out a niche in tech-cults and grew steadily.
But even Vashtorr had to bow and scrape to the Chaos Gods, forging Daemon Engines for them—essentially begging for scraps.
Waiting for a better day.
But Diablo—the Dark Side of the Savior, the Lord of Terror—had neither the means nor the desire to grovel. The Chaos Gods would never allow a god of such size and ambition to exist freely. (I rather just use Diablo, sounds way better)
And the Savior himself would never permit his dark avatar to live off leftovers.
He wanted it all.
Thus, if Diablo was to draw in new believers, he had to open his own wallet and offer generous perks—using even more tempting chaos energy to lure converts.
Normally, a fledgling god couldn't afford such extravagance. But the dark persona of Diablo had a massive reserve of warp energy.
Thanks to the Devourer's feats in both realspace and the warp, his fame struck fear into daemonkind, and his mutual shilling with Ka'Bandha—the Supreme Bloodthirster—fueled an exponential rise.
He had become impossible to ignore—even the Chaos Gods had taken notice.
It was the perfect storm.
Now, Diablo was leveraging that momentum, alongside the Savior's secret logistical support, to aggressively expand his cult.
The newly-forged bloodstones were incredibly enticing.
The Khorne Champion stared at the trembling bloodstone, and could not suppress the growing urge to devour it.
He resisted.
"No... A warrior of the Blood God does not yield!"
"Fool!" Kryon's boot pressed harder, the champion's bones cracking audibly beneath the weight. "You crave power yet hesitate—do you truly wish to die here, in disgrace and without honor?"
"Look around you. The god you worship has given you nothing. He has already abandoned you!"
The Khorne Champion looked past the bloodstone and saw the battlefield.
The warriors of terror—equipped with superior weapons and firepower—were reveling in unrestrained slaughter.
Meanwhile, the Blood God's warriors were being struck down one by one, humiliated without even a chance to fight back.
It wasn't just a matter of gear.
The Terror Marines were more brutal, their flesh stronger, their will to fight more resolute.
He could tell—many of them had once been Khorne's own warriors.
But after pledging themselves to the Lord of Terror, they had become physically superior, more powerful.
"Blood God... forgive my choice…"
With trembling hands, the Khorne Champion grabbed the bloodstone and shoved it into his mouth, forcing it down.
He had tried to stay loyal—but the Lord of Terror just offered too much.
"AHHHHH!!!"
Upon swallowing the bloodstone, his restraints shattered. Chaotic energy poured through his veins as the blessing of the Lord of Terror activated.
His eyes glowed crimson, his body swelled with muscle, and keratinous plating spread across his skin.
He picked up the power axe and glared with burning hatred.
"DIE!!!"
Newly reborn, the Terror Champion roared and swung the axe with ferocious force at Kryon—far more powerful than he had been moments ago.
But Kryon stood firm, unmoving as a mountain, and blocked the blow with ease.
Then he counterattacked, forcing the champion back.
He shook his head, uninterested in prolonging the fight. "Brother, you can't beat me dressed in rags. You need better gear…"
As he spoke, Kryon sent a command.
Moments later, a drop pod wrapped in twitching black cables slammed into the ground before the new Terror Champion. The pod's shell disintegrated, revealing a suit of terrifying power armor.
Kryon locked eyes with him.
"This is another gift from the Lord of Terror. I accept your challenge—but not now. I'll be waiting in the Black Abyss arena."
"There, we will fight before the Lord of Terror and all His warriors—until only one of us stands."
Meanwhile, the battle still raged.
"Drown in fear—your end has come!"
Terror Terminator Broken Horn howled as he charged into enemy lines, his axe reaping carnage with every swing, each cry of agony feeding his ecstasy.
He was in pure bliss.
Since pledging himself to the Lord of Terror, his mind had cleared. He had earned Terminator armor. His glory was restored.
And the thrill of battle—it was stronger than anything he'd felt under Khorne.
Every kill earned him more chaotic power.
An enemy struck down: rewarded.
An enemy Terminator crushed: even greater rewards.
He was constantly bathed in the Lord of Terror's favor—a perfect positive feedback loop.
This was by design.
Rather than dumping blessings in one go, Diablo engineered a "game loop" of combat and upgrades—like leveling up in a video game.
And it wasn't just about melee slaughter.
Chaos Marines could fight however they pleased.
Suppressive fire. Ambushes. Sniping. Torture. Taunting.
As long as it served the war effort—as long as it spread fear—it was rewarded.
Even the tiniest terror brought power.
Every kind of Chaos warrior could find a role under the Lord of Terror. None were excluded.
It was a recruitment drive that absorbed the faithful of all gods.
"Hold fast! Blood for the Blood God!"
Khorne's warriors fought valiantly—but it was hopeless. Fear spread. Their will to fight crumbled.
Then they saw the worst possible sight—their Chaos Champion.
He had switched sides.
Now he was happily suiting up in enemy-supplied, deluxe power armor.
"We're still fighting, and our Champion defects?!"
The defection shattered what was left of their morale. They were surrounded and captured one after another.
Some even looked at the enemy's gear, tempted to defect themselves.
This had all been part of a plan devised by the Terror Legion's strategists—former disciples of Tzeentch.
Take out the leader. Crush the morale.
These former schemers of Change had fully adapted to their new collective, reveling in how smoothly their plans now unfolded.
Their schemes succeeded more often. There were no more backstabbing allies. No more betrayals from within.
In the Legion of Terror, everyone had a place. Everyone could maximize their potential.
The war to seize the Blood Scab warband's stronghold was over in just one hour.
The Terror Legion looted everything. What couldn't be taken was destroyed. Prisoners were stripped of weapons and armor.
Then, taking with them the prisoners who were willing to convert, the Terror Legion departed the area.
As for the remaining captives—they were left naked amidst the ruins.
These pitiful souls would serve as living witnesses of the Terror Legion's passage, spreading the Lord of Terror's name far and wide.
Soon after, the Terror Legion began to raid over a dozen more Chaos warband strongholds in a similar manner, gradually expanding the number of Terror Warriors.
With each victory, the names of the Dark Prince, Diablo the Destroyer, and the Lord of Terror spread further, becoming known throughout the Eye of Terror's chaotic dominion.
And what the Chaos warbands discussed most was… the benefits.
The high standards of living in the Terror Legion made Chaos warriors green with envy. Many began to voice discontent, hoping their own factions would start handing out better gear.
Eventually, the Terror Legion set its sights on major Chaos powers—but not to attack. They weren't strong enough for that. Not yet.
Instead, following plans laid out by the Legion's strategists, they started quietly distributing recruitment messages.
...
Black Legion Territory
Within the star dust, only sparse and dim light pierced the gloom. Few orbital fortresses, shipyards, or foundries could be seen.
The Black Legion was still reeling from the last plundering campaign.
Although the Chaos Warmaster and Great Despoiler Abaddon had recalled many fleets and launched a renewed war to reclaim what was lost…
…he had managed to recover less than a tenth.
Recently, morale within the Black Legion's territory had hit rock bottom.
In dark corners, whispers spread. People hid things, terrified of being found out.
One of the most dominant legions in the Eye of Terror now faced a new problem—morale collapse due to poor treatment.
...
Shadow Bastion
At the deepest point of the fortress's grand hall—
CRACK!!
"Damn it! This is malicious recruitment!"
Abaddon roared, crushing a bloodstone in his hand. His braid snapped upright in fury.
A tide of immense warp energy burst from his body like a dark tidal wave, raging through the hall. Though invisible, it weighed down on every Chaos creature below his throne like a collapsing sky.
"Let's see just how despicable those bastards can get."
BZZZT~
A nearby device flickered to life, projecting a recruitment holo-ad into the air.
On-screen: a brutal warzone. Civilized worlds burning under a tide of Chaos. Infernal flames rising to the heavens—apocalyptic imagery.
Over the footage, a raspy voice intoned:
"The Great Rift spreads. Our time has come—terror, slaughter, torment, pain—the galaxy howls beneath our feet…"
As the narration continued, a lone Chaos warrior walked through the war-torn battlefield.
Around him, followers of the Chaos Gods butchered humans. Among them, Black Legionnaires could faintly be seen. It was… an idealized vision of chaotic life.
"But such glory isn't given freely."
Suddenly, the battlefield shifted.
Dozens of drop pods crashed down. Primaris Astartes emerged, brutally gunning down Chaos warriors.
Grey Knights teleported into view, ruthlessly beating under-equipped Black Legionaries. The footage paused dramatically on the Black Legion's banner—then showed it being trampled underfoot.
The hall grew tense.
Several Chaos lieutenants clenched their fists. One of the Tzeentchian aides gasped:
"Warmaster, this… this is blasphemy!"
From atop the throne, Abaddon inhaled deeply, suppressing his mounting fury.
The projection continued.
Imperial forces unleashed devastating sacred weapons—including a soul-burning alchemic psychic bomb.
"I don't want to die here—NOOO!!"
The Chaos warrior screamed as his armor burned, engulfed in warp flame, until he knelt and was reduced to a smoldering husk.
The screen froze.
Then the same raspy voice returned.
The Chaos warrior stepped forward, staring out at the viewers:
"Brothers… does this look familiar? The Imperium strikes back. Chaos crusades fail—again and again."
"This scene plays out across the galaxy—even now."
He pointed toward the audience:
"You… might be next!"
The music warped into a triumphant crescendo. The warrior's voice pressed:
"Have you lost battles due to lack of weapons, armor, support? Will you die in shame and without honor?"
"It's time to choose!"
At the peak of the music, the visuals changed.
Infernal flames burst skyward.
A colossal, demonic half-statue of Diablo, the Lord of Terror, stared down at the screen. Before him stood a Chaos warrior clad in terrifying Terminator armor—every inch glinting with daemonic craftsmanship and particle effects cranked to maximum.
The red lenses of his helm flared:
"Prove you have the strength and courage to kill—destroy everything—
Join the Terror Legion!"
The screen exploded into action.
With roaring hellfire and deafening music, thousands of terror claws descended.
"Become a Terror Warrior. Claim everything you desire. Become the embodiment of fear and slaughter!"
The footage showed the new 'Terror Marines' massacring foes, routing Imperial forces, cutting down Grey Knights, impaling Chapter chaplains with flags.
Above, Hell Drakes screamed through the sky.
On the ground, Dreadnoughts charged, Centurions unleashed torrents of fire, Daemon Engines roared, Chaos Titans crushed entire shrines.
Every frame screamed wealth, power, and dominance.
Their enemies weren't just Imperials—xenos, daemons, it didn't matter.
The message was simple:
KILL. EVERYTHING.
"You will become a legend. The galaxy will burn beneath your feet.
Join the Terror Legion!"
The final scene: a squad of Terror Warriors posed menacingly on an orbital platform, watching as planet after planet succumbed to corruption, until an entire star system was reduced to a fiery apocalypse.
BOOM—!!
Abaddon could take no more. He smashed the infernal projector.
He glared at the Chaos commanders gathered below:
"Well?! What do you think we should do about this?"
Lately, that so-called "Terror Legion" had flooded Black Legion territories with a massive wave of recruitment propaganda.
Not just videos like this—but printed rumors too:
"The Black Legion is bankrupt, they can't even resupply ammo."
"The Great Despoiler's lost his edge, spending all day with some androgynous warlord."
"Black Legion vs Terror Legion equipment comparison: sad, really. Our boys can't even get full armor sets."
"Brothers, the Terror Legion really delivers—I just joined and got full Terminator armor AND a Hell Drake!"
These malicious recruitment ads had completely destabilized the Black Legion.
Many Chaos warriors had secretly taken bloodstones and defected.
Worse still—it wasn't just individuals.
One Tzeentch-aligned vassal warband even used sorcery to steal a large supply cache, then collectively defected.
Unforgivable.
One Chaos leader hesitated and said, "Perhaps… we too could offer our warriors new gear. From our stockpile—"
Abaddon's gaze snapped to him. The man immediately shut up.
What he didn't know was… the "stockpile" was already empty.
The illusion of abundance had been carefully crafted just to keep morale stable.
But now, this aggressive recruitment campaign had blown everything apart.
Chaos warriors had begun questioning the Legion's logistics—complaining about Abaddon's stinginess, demanding weapons and gear.
It left him stuck.
Abaddon's fury only grew.
"Damn that Terror Legion. What is it they want?!"
That upstart warband had completely disrupted the Eye of Terror's recruitment system by jacking up expectations.
Now, warriors realized—you don't have to bring your own ammo to war.
This kind of hostile generosity threatened to collapse the entire Chaos ecosystem.
Resources in the Eye of Terror were already stretched thin. If everyone started demanding full gear sets…
No Chaos faction could maintain that kind of logistics.
Not unless they controlled massive portions of Imperial space and had dark forges set up beyond the Eye.
But that wasn't happening anytime soon—not while the Regent of the Imperium still drew breath.
And yet… if this continued…
The Black Legion would bleed out.
Abaddon took a deep breath:
"It seems… we must find them—
And crush them."
Just another newly risen warband.
Crush them quickly—and the warriors would have no choice but to return to the fold.
To follow him and the greater Chaos powers—just like before.
(End of Chapter)
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