Just thinking of the Black Crusade was enough to make Abaddon's long-dormant heart throb with heat again.
That name haunted his soul — a grand campaign he had pursued in vain for ten millennia, a dream never fading, a longing to finally achieve what had once been lost.
It was the unfinished legacy of the Warmaster of the Imperium, the Sixteenth Primarch — Horus.
Once, he had set the galaxy ablaze, leading his armies to the Holy Terra itself and confronting the Emperor face to face — only to fall short at the final moment.
Abaddon held complex feelings for Horus. He had been the Warmaster's confidant, the Captain of the First Company of the Sons of Horus, his gene-son.
To him, Horus was like a father.
Abaddon's thoughts drifted back ten thousand years, to the time when the Sons of Horus had come closest to victory.
When Horus fell to Chaos and decided to rebel, Abaddon was the first to pledge unwavering loyalty. Without hesitation, he followed Horus into corruption, eliminating all dissenters.
From then on, Abaddon became the vanguard of the Horus Heresy. From Isstvan to the Siege of Terra, he was always on the most brutal battlefronts, leading his forces to break through the Imperium's strongest fortress worlds.
He had hoped Horus would become the new Emperor of Humanity and rule the galaxy.
But as the campaign progressed, Horus sank deeper into corruption, growing more indifferent to the material world.
This broke Abaddon's heart. He could not accept that his father — the destined ruler of the galaxy — had become nothing more than a puppet of the Chaos Gods.
It was an intolerable betrayal.
Worse still, Horus grew increasingly mad and incapable of managing the complex strategy of the rebellion.
In the end, Abaddon had to step up and take on the duties of leading the Legion, continuing the war in hopes of conquering Holy Terra.
But the corruption worsened. Mutation and madness spread. Chaos ate away at the minds of their commanders, making the entire campaign spiral out of control.
The seeds of failure were already sown. The Legion began to collapse.
At that point, Abaddon realized that Chaos never intended for them to win. Horus and his warriors were sacrifices — offerings to tear the Imperium apart.
Once he understood this, Abaddon rallied the captains who still retained their sanity and led a desperate charge toward their flagship, now a nightmare realm consumed by the Warp.
This warrior, unwilling to become another pawn of the Gods, sought to bring Horus back to his senses.
But he arrived too late.
The Emperor had already teleported aboard the ship with Sanguinius, Rogal Dorn, and Valdor, launching his assault on Horus.
Thus began the fated father-son duel — a battle so monumental it shattered space and time.
By the time Abaddon reached the battlefield, Horus had already been slain by the Emperor, his soul lost.
The Loyalists evacuated with the gravely wounded Emperor.
After the death of the Warmaster, some urged Abaddon to surrender and return to the Imperium.
He refused.
He maintained that the rebellion had been right — it was Chaos that sabotaged their efforts.
Ultimately, Abaddon led the remaining warriors into the Eye of Terror.
Yet he did not bow to the Chaos Gods.
He rejected the Warp and its games, instead crowning himself king and turning his gaze back to the material galaxy.
He accepted Horus's failure, declared himself the new Warmaster of Chaos, renamed the Sons of Horus to the Black Legion, and ordered their armor painted black — to bury the shame of defeat and build anew.
He proclaimed this vision to the other traitor Legions: the Black Legion would become a new army, open to all Chaos Space Marines willing and able to fight for the destruction of the False Emperor.
At first, no one took the new Warmaster seriously.
So Abaddon spent nearly a thousand years personally crushing every dissenter and winning over the support of the other fallen Primarchs.
Eventually, he earned respect.
Under him, the Legion expanded rapidly, absorbing other Chaos Space Marines into its ranks.
The Despoiler, the Warmaster of Chaos, now commanded hundreds of thousands of warriors and countless Chaos territories, along with billions of human slaves and soldiers devoted to the Dark Gods.
His Chaos fleets blotted out the stars.
Now, with power in hand, Abaddon's restless heart beat with new fervor.
He would fulfill the promise. Complete the great task. Lead his forces once more toward Holy Terra and drag the False Emperor from the Golden Throne.
The Despoiler, the Warmaster of Chaos, would conquer the galaxy and become the new master of mankind!
"Weak Horus. Foolish Horus. He had the galaxy in his grasp and let it slip between his fingers."
When Abaddon launched the First Black Crusade, he declared with pride:
"This time, I'll take it all back..."
With high spirits, he led the Chaos forces out of the Eye of Terror and struck against the Imperium.
His sword pointed straight at Holy Terra.
Even the Chaos Gods were moved by his momentum and joined the campaign.
All sides believed the Warmaster of Chaos would plunge the galaxy into blood and fire once more.
The Imperium braced itself for annihilation, believing the end was near.
Yet ten thousand years passed. Abaddon launched thirteen Black Crusades.
It was only on the thirteenth that he finally destroyed Cadia and pushed the frontlines close to the Eye of Terror.
Thirteen crusades, ten millennia — and he had achieved less than a quarter of what Horus had in seven years.
He hadn't even glimpsed the shadow of Holy Terra.
This damaged his prestige. His commands became harder to enforce. Chaos warbands often disobeyed him, driving him to curse them as maggots.
Now, Abaddon's influence was limited to the Eye of Terror, the Gloaming Worlds, and the Vigilus war zone, where he had committed over half his strength.
Even so, he remained one of the most powerful Chaos warlords in the galaxy.
He never forgot the shame of his past defeats and longed to set foot on Holy Terra once more.
Now, he saw the perfect opportunity!
Since the return of the Lord Regent, the Imperium had launched the Indomitus Crusade — pulling most of its fleets into the dark half of the galaxy with unstoppable force.
Crusade Fleet Secundus had been deployed to the Gloaming Worlds to secure the Nachmund Gauntlet — the corridor linking to the light of the Imperium and even the Sol System itself.
But once it entered the Gloaming Worlds, it encountered overwhelming resistance, surrounded and attacked by many Chaos forces.
The largest of these was Abaddon's own army.
Now, Fleet Secundus was on the verge of collapse, and the Lord Regent could not provide timely aid.
If the Chaos coalition could break the fleet's defense and wipe it out, Abaddon could rally his forces from Vigilus and the Eye of Terror, then cross the Nachmund Gauntlet straight into the Imperium's heart — straight toward Holy Terra.
Moreover, the Indomitus Crusade had left the Imperium's core worlds defenseless.
The fortress worlds along the path would be unable to stop the Black Legion.
Abaddon saw the board clearly, a cold grin spreading across his face.
"I see hope for victory. The Fourteenth Black Crusade is about to begin. Perhaps, at last, the era of the Despoiler has arrived!"
This time, he would erase all past humiliations and achieve undeniable victory.
After ten thousand years, the heir of Horus would return to Holy Terra — and finish what was started.
His surging emotions stirred the Warp with even greater force.
But the Chaos Warmaster was not blinded by hope.
To achieve this, the Regent's Fleet Secundus had to be crushed quickly and decisively — with overwhelming momentum.
Only then would more Chaos factions join the war.
Vmmm...
The Planet Killer led a Chaos fleet into Warp travel.
This vanguard battle was too crucial — Abaddon would personally oversee it on the frontlines of the Gloaming Worlds.
He ordered all fleets assigned to monitor the Lord Regent to move out immediately.
Meanwhile, Abaddon set his sights on the Knight World Dalovar in the Nachmund Gauntlet.
He would annihilate Dalovar and neighboring civilized planets, bathing the stars in the blood of Imperial warriors.
This would announce the arrival of the Despoiler — the Warmaster of Chaos — to the Gloaming Worlds and beyond.
The great campaign was about to begin.
Only those who joined now and feasted at his table would claim their share of the future galactic order.
Darkness has come.
...
Baal.
The victory celebrations had lasted several days. Many major ceremonies had already been completed.
But the festivities would continue for three more months.
The Primarch and the Lord Regent had not appeared since completing their official duties, leaving many visiting Imperial nobles disappointed.
Crusade Fleet Primus Anchorage.
Dozens of transport ships arrived — the Savior's logistics fleet, carrying the first wave of support for the Lord Regent.
The most important cargo: hundreds of thousands of administrative personnel, Mechanicus priests, data sages, and advanced communication hardware.
From this moment on, they would serve the Lord Regent directly.
Their first task: install a Machine Spirit Core for the Omnissiah aboard the Lord Regent's flagship — Glory of Macragge.
This would allow the Omnissiah's blessing to more effectively extend over the vessel's communication systems.
The engineering crews transported huge module sets into the core of the flagship. The Tech-Priests led their cohorts in rapid assembly.
They worked with astounding speed.
In the Savior's territory, engineering and mechanical divisions had adopted a modular system: mass-producing standard components on the Lunar Forge World, storing them, and delivering them for quick assembly and replacement.
This outpaced the Imperium's older, more clumsy construction methods — especially those stubborn gearheads who insisted on hand-crafting everything on-site.
Granted, this industrialized process couldn't rival the masterpieces of Archmagos, but it excelled in volume and efficiency.
In just three days, the Tech-Priests could construct a ship-grade Machine Spirit Core dozens of meters tall and install companion receivers on other vessels.
Meanwhile, the data sages began their work.
These sparsely-haired men extracted communications data from the Regent's current systems and started optimizing his administrative software.
Everything would be custom-built for the Lord Regent.
Soon, he would be using tools equivalent to WeChat, OA, and CRM — enabling full online governance.
No more parchment files in the age of interstellar travel.
...
The Lord Regent's Sanctum.
The aide Felix opened the gates of the Sanctum to welcome the incoming administrative team.
From now on, these personnel would serve within the Sanctum, assisting in the Lord Regent's office, and would help train more administrative talent in the future.
In view appeared a neatly dressed and sharp-eyed official, wearing a gold-trimmed robe and glasses, leading the team with composed authority.
Besides the lead official, the team also included civilian consultants, military advisors, personal aides, document clerks, communications officers, and more.
This experienced team was capable of assisting the leader in every conceivable matter.
Each of them had been personally selected by the Savior — elite personnel who could support the Lord Regent from top to bottom, inside and out.
Even while walking, the lead official maintained high efficiency.
He reviewed and processed documents at high speed on four or five data slates using a mechanical assistance arm, without missing a step.
But he wasn't so absorbed in his work that he lost awareness.
As he approached, he timed everything perfectly — completing his tasks, retracting the mechanical arm and data slates smoothly beneath his robe.
He raised his head, offered a refined bow, and smiled flawlessly:
"Lord Felix, thank you for your patience. I am Bayesa Cotton, the administrative officer assigned to serve the Lord Regent."
"Mr. Bayesa, I am Aide Felix."
Something about the man's demeanor and tone made Felix feel no discomfort or resistance toward the newcomer.
Felix reminded him, "The Lord Regent has given instructions: aside from specially restricted areas, you are free to go anywhere within this Sanctum."
Bayesa nodded, steady and composed.
"Then let us begin our work. I hope our presence can bring a fresh breeze of change."
The young official exuded confidence.
After all, he hailed from House Cotton, the Chief Steward's family. His grandfather was Bayev, the Savior's Hand. His father served as head of the Loyal Sons Academy. Many family members held critical posts across the Savior's domain.
Now, he represented the third generation — and was among the most outstanding of them.
The Savior had praised his abilities and entrusted him with great expectations, viewing him as a future pillar of leadership.
And now, he had been granted the honor of serving the Imperium's Lord Regent.
What moved Bayesa most was being personally summoned by both the Savior and the Lord Regent.
They had asked him whether he was willing to serve.
In front of the Regent, the Savior called him "Little Malcador" — a title of immense honor once bestowed upon his grandfather, the Savior's Hand.
That praise alone had become the aspiration of House Cotton for generations.
The Lord Regent himself had clasped his hand earnestly, offering encouragement.
As if worried that fear or self-doubt might make him decline the role.
Those words ignited Bayesa's spirit. He vowed never to betray the expectations placed upon him and would serve the Lord Regent with all he had.
"This is the Lord Regent's office, and where you'll be working from now on…"
Felix led Bayesa to the office.
As the carved wooden doors creaked open, the scene inside was revealed.
The decor was spartan. Aside from a large wooden desk in the center, the rest of the space was buried in endless mounds of parchment.
Heaps of documents towered over two meters high — enough to fill most of the room.
Crash—
One stack toppled loudly, echoing in the silence that followed.
Felix looked uneasy, worried that the sheer weight of duty would intimidate the new administrator.
After all, few outside of a Primarch could bear such a burden.
Indeed, the scene was shocking.
Bayesa stared at the chaotic, inefficient workspace with surprise. His staff murmured quietly after the moment of silence.
Yet his expression did not shift.
From the corner of the eye, one could see tiny streams of data scrolling across the lenses of his glasses.
Even in everyday moments, he constantly read documents, learning and absorbing information. For him, work was life.
Now, he was reviewing every piece of data available about the Lord Regent and his fleet — thoroughly preparing himself for this new role.
He had anticipated the challenges ahead.
Pushing up his glasses, Bayesa's lenses flashed with a cold gleam.
"Lord Felix, leave this to me."
...
Baal, Savior's Sanctum.
In a private lounge, Lord Regent Roboute Guilliman reclined deep into a beanbag chair, practically sinking into it.
The posture lacked discipline, but he felt oddly at ease.
He sat upright, sipped a warm cup of tea, and gazed at the fine desserts set on the table.
Soon, however, he grew uneasy. His brows furrowed.
Two hours had passed without him doing anything — no governance, no reports. The unresolved pile of work loomed in his mind.
But the communications and administrative systems were currently undergoing handover.
He could not interfere.
The support team needed this brief window of peace between wars to implement reforms and streamline operations.
Otherwise, once battle resumed, it would be too late.
He had already concluded talks with the Chapter Masters, and entrusted the biological expertise and Primaris technology to the Savior's senior Magos Biologis, Moss.
After that, he had come to see the Savior.
But upon arrival, he learned that Eden was taking a nap.
So Guilliman simply waited.
One of the maids offered to wake the Savior, but he waved the offer away.
"I'll wait until he wakes…"
He knew the value of sleep. His own was constantly disrupted by the armor of fate, preventing rest and haunting him with torment.
He hadn't truly slept in months.
The Battle of Baal had been brutal, followed by a massive celebration.
Eden must be utterly exhausted.
Let him sleep a while longer.
The Lord Regent waited patiently, though his thoughts once again drifted far — to the troubled Gloaming Worlds.
The Webway corridor hadn't been fully restored yet. Reinforcements were still arriving.
He couldn't move out just yet.
Fortunately, this delay wouldn't last long.
In ten days, his fleet could traverse the Webway, reaching the front lines dozens of times faster than before.
That eased his worries slightly.
But new concerns quickly took their place.
"Old man Gil, why didn't you wake me up when you came in?"
Eden yawned, shuffling over in slippers and a robe, eyes still hazy.
He popped open a cold soda and handed one to Guilliman.
Lately, his sleep had improved. He'd been sleeping longer. Though oddly, Slaanesh had been appearing more frequently in his dreams — even cosplaying as a goddess of life for some unknown reason.
Guilliman took a sip. The strange taste intrigued him.
Eden plopped down on the beanbag beside him, sinking in without a care for posture.
Between brothers, appearances didn't matter.
He glanced at Guilliman, still frowning with tension, as if he could never truly relax.
"Sigh… still worrying about the Gloaming Worlds?"
Guilliman nodded solemnly.
"If Fleet Secundus collapses, the Black Legion could use the Nachmund Gauntlet to strike deeper into the Imperium — even Holy Terra…"
He saw the risk clearly and felt a chill in his heart.
Without Eden's help — and without the Webway — the slow pace of reinforcements would escalate the danger dramatically.
A misstep could spiral into irrecoverable disaster.
Eden furrowed his brows, contemplating.
"You think that guy Abaddon might personally go to the Gloaming Worlds, maybe even pull troops from Vigilus and the Eye of Terror?"
Guilliman had studied the Warmaster of Chaos.
"Abaddon longs to strike the Imperium and Holy Terra. He won't pass up this chance. If things turn against him, he will call reinforcements."
"Hm~ that's a good opportunity…"
Eden muttered suddenly.
"Opportunity?"
Guilliman blinked.
To him, this was a crisis — a war that could unravel the entire Indomitus Crusade.
"Take a look…"
Eden lifted his hand gently, using psychic power to pull down a valve.
From the ceiling, a projector descended and began casting a star map of the Gloaming Worlds.
Guilliman turned to examine it.
The map showed key Imperial zones, clearly marked with Vigilus, the Eye of Terror, and the Nachmund Gauntlet.
The Eye of Terror lay to the upper left of the Gloaming Worlds. Vigilus sat opposite it. The Nachmund Gauntlet curved toward the Segmentum Solar.
Two Webway lines were also displayed — one toward the Eye, the other toward the Gauntlet.
It was clear now.
His brother had long been preparing for operations in the Gloaming Worlds.
Indeed, the Savior's domain had been actively surveying and restoring rapid-transit Webway lines to major war zones.
Eden had ordered the Orks to prioritize repairing the Gloaming Worlds' corridor — in preparation for a future strike.
A strike against Vigilus and the Eye.
Now, the opportunity had come.
Eden tugged his nightcap back, pointed at the Eye, and spoke:
"The Webway routes let our fleets reach the Eye and the Gauntlet faster than ever.
We go in together — you break the siege on Fleet Secundus and focus your forces on smashing Abaddon's head in.
Then, bait him. Lure him into thinking he can win. Draw out his Eye of Terror fleets.
And when he takes the bait and leaves his fortress empty…
I'll sneak in and rob the place blind. He's hoarding some good stuff there!"
(End of Chapter)
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