Eden had long coveted the resources of the Vigilus war zone and even those hidden deep within the Eye of Terror.
But, lacking sufficient strength, he had never dared to make a move.
Vigilus was out of the question. Even someone like Abaddon the Despoiler hadn't been able to conquer it after so many years.
Without overwhelming power, Eden couldn't bear to toss his forces into that meat grinder.
As for the Eye of Terror, it was even more perilous.
For all his embarrassing failures, Abaddon still commanded one of the most powerful forces in the galaxy—hundreds of thousands of Chaos Space Marines, countless warships, and his influence rivaled or surpassed the Savior's entire domain.
Moreover, the Savior's typical tactic of overwhelming numbers and steel avalanches was useless in the Eye of Terror.
That place was the boundary between realspace and the Warp, saturated with Chaos energy.
Only elite human forces like Space Marines, Tech-Priests, and psykers could operate there without losing their minds. Regular humans would go insane just by stepping inside.
That was how formidable Abaddon was.
Eden even suspected that the repeated failures of Abaddon's Black Crusades might have something to do with sabotage by the Chaos Gods themselves.
After all, Abaddon had never bowed to the Chaos Gods. He had little interest in the Warp. His obsession was to conquer the galaxy and strike down Holy Terra itself.
With the Imperium teetering on the brink, if Abaddon ever got close to accomplishing that goal—if he reached Terra and dared to pull the Emperor off the Golden Throne—the Chaos Gods might be the first to panic.
That would be like triggering a Warp-core detonation.
The moment the Emperor fell, Holy Terra and its billions would perish. Humanity might face extinction, just like the ancient Aeldari, releasing an unimaginable psychic storm that could free the Emperor and turn him into a blazing Warp sun.
And when that happened, the Chaos Gods would be the ones getting slapped around.
The Emperor remained unmoving, bound by His need to preserve humanity.
And the Chaos Gods wouldn't dare wipe out humanity entirely either. They preferred to slowly devour Imperial territory and souls to build strength.
Until they had enough power to resist the Emperor, they wouldn't let Him loose from the throne.
That might well be one of the reasons why the Imperium—this rickety old war machine—still held together.
Maybe, just maybe, Tzeentch was working overtime behind the scenes to ensure the Imperium didn't collapse entirely.
The balance of internal and external chaos maintained the stalemate.
Still, Abaddon was a unique threat. His galactic power was enough to flip the table entirely. He had to be restrained—not too weak to fall, but definitely not strong enough to win.
Under normal circumstances, Eden wouldn't dare touch the Eye of Terror.
But things had changed.
Roboute Guilliman had arrived, bringing with him the Indomitus Crusade fleet.
A fleet made up of the finest forces from across the Imperium's more stable sectors.
Even the First Fleet of the Indomitus Crusade, which had arrived at Baal, had as many ships as the Savior's entire navy.
And they were accompanied by a hundred thousand Primaris Space Marines.
With the Second Fleet in the Dim Reach and the First Fleet arriving as reinforcements, they had enough firepower not only to repel the Chaos alliance but also to give Abaddon a serious beating.
Eden's plan was simple: once the siege on the Dim Reach was broken, the combined fleets would hammer Abaddon so hard he'd see red.
Then, while Abaddon's Chaos fleets were drawn out of the Eye of Terror to retaliate, Eden would send his own fleet through another Webway route straight to the doorstep of Abaddon's lair and loot it clean.
To the Imperium, the Eye of Terror was a corruption-riddled Chaos stronghold.
They had sent many Nullships—vessels capable of blocking psychic and machine detection—into the Eye to probe its secrets. But it had always been for reconnaissance and enemy study.
Eden, however, had a different goal.
The Eye of Terror contained resources he desperately needed.
Wrecked ships drifting through the void, blackstone scavenged from Vigilus, ancient tech relics from the Blackstone Fortresses, and forbidden technologies…
These were rare and invaluable assets that would fuel the next stage of development in his domain.
When Eden proposed this plan to Guilliman, the Regent agreed without hesitation.
To him, the strategy was sound and struck a heavy blow to Abaddon's power.
The two of them discussed the finer points.
How to hide their fleet during the raid, how to bait Abaddon into deploying his Chaos fleet out of the Eye, how to create the necessary time gap—all of these details were covered.
They even exchanged intelligence on the Eye of Terror's internal routes.
Not just what the Imperium's Nullships had found.
Guilliman, during his pilgrimage to Terra, had been briefly caught in a sorcerous Warp storm and ended up inside the Eye of Terror, where he had taken a serious beating.
He had firsthand knowledge of the place.
Their current discussion was just the beginning. The real operational planning would be handled by their respective military staff.
But Guilliman was already fired up, going into a full-blown strategic briefing mode, preparing to call in his entire command team.
Seeing this, Eden waved a hand and dismissed the star map they had been discussing.
He looked at the surprised Guilliman.
"This is better left to the administrative and military staff. You'll have time to handle this during your journey to the Dim Reach."
Webway travel wasn't as dangerous as Warp travel, and they wouldn't be harassed by Chaos forces. Plus, they'd be escorted by several Ork fleets that were now under Eden's control.
Guilliman would have plenty of time to manage the campaign on the way.
"We've got something more important to do now…"
Eden checked the time.
"Dante should be arriving any moment now."
As if on cue, Dante swaggered into the room.
"Savior, it's time to go!"
Guilliman turned toward the voice—and froze.
Dante wasn't in his usual wargear. He wore sunglasses, a tank top, swim trunks, and flip-flops.
"…What is this?"
Guilliman asked, utterly baffled by the Blood Angels Chapter Master's bizarre attire.
"We're going on vacation, obviously," Eden replied casually.
At some point, he had also changed into similar clothes.
He had built a small resort on Baal, complete with various terrains, a chapel, and full recreational facilities.
All of it bathed in the radiant light of the Sacred Spire.
The resort was specifically designed to help the Blood Angels and other Astartes recover between campaigns—soothing their souls and calming their berserk urges.
After all, the Blood Angels' Red Thirst wasn't just a medical condition—it ran deep in their very souls. Universal panaceas could only temporarily suppress it, not cure it.
The only solution was extended rest, under the sun mixed with divine light.
Eden looked at the pale, black-eyed, thoroughly exhausted Guilliman with real concern.
"You really need to take a break while there's still time."
If not for the faint life energy radiating from him, Eden might have mistaken Guilliman for a corpse.
Even a Primarch—no matter how mighty—was still made of flesh and blood. His body and spirit needed rest.
Especially since he'd soon be going toe-to-toe with Abaddon again.
And in his current condition, Eden figured Guilliman would probably get pummelled.
Seeing the sincerity in their eyes, Guilliman hesitated… then nodded.
"One day. I'll rest for one day."
Even he could no longer deny the toll this war was taking.
He stood, ready to go—but was immediately stopped.
Eden eyed the massive, humming suit of armor Guilliman wore and shook his head.
"You really think you can relax wearing that damn thing?"
The armor was loud. Even at a distance, you could hear the constant buzzing—like a swarm of flies in your ears.
Anyone wearing it 24/7 would go insane.
And Guilliman had done just that—since the day he awoke, he hadn't taken it off. For over twenty years in realspace.
And if you factored in all the time lost in Warp travel and the Great Rift, it might've been nearly a century to him.
The toll it had taken on him was visible for all to see.
Eden rubbed his chin, muttering, "Tch… you think this thing can even come off?"
Guilliman gave a bitter smile and placed a hand on his chest.
"Archmagos Cawl told me this armor is what keeps me alive. The Aeldari who helped revive me warned me—never take it off."
His tone turned grim.
"Maybe Yvraine wasn't lying. Maybe she truly believed that. But I don't trust any of it.
"The Aeldari only ever act in their own interests. They didn't bring me back for humanity's sake, but to serve their own agenda—to use me as a pawn against their extinction.
"But they don't understand one thing.
"I will never allow myself to be chained again.
"Not by anyone. Not by anything."
Eden frowned.
"So… you've tried to take the damn thing off?"
It was something that had to be tested.
Even if this armor had been forged by Archmagos Cawl himself, there was no guarantee the Aeldari hadn't tampered with it.
Cawl had too many projects on his hands. In the face of crisis, he wouldn't have had time to fully analyze its alien tech.
And Guilliman was humanity's leader. He couldn't afford to depend on anything.
Not even armor that kept him alive.
Because if it failed at a critical moment—or if the Aeldari had a backdoor to disable it—then everything could fall apart.
Such circumstances could easily lead to catastrophe—or even worse, give the Aeldari leverage over humanity.
Guilliman nodded, a shadow passing through his eyes.
"Yes… I've tried removing the armor before. I survived—but it was excruciating."
When the Regent of the Imperium finally resolved to shed his armor, an agony beyond words surged through him.
The wound left by the fallen Phoenix, Fulgrim, tore open again, spilling blood that reeked of eternal poison.
He collapsed to the ground, heart pounding wildly, pain burning through both flesh and soul.
But there was only one thought in his heart—he could not die.
No matter what, he must not die.
He feared that if he were to fall, there would be no one left who could hold the Imperium together.
"For that full Terran Standard hour… I tasted the fear of death once more, and lived through memories I can no longer fully recall," Guilliman murmured.
His fingers brushed the sticky, lingering wound on his neck—Fulgrim's parting gift—his expression as resolute as ever.
"But I lived. I wasn't shackled by it. I overcame death."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"In the days that followed, I would remove the armor from time to time, enduring the agony of death, adapting to it. I even acted as though nothing had happened in front of my warriors.
"I had to show humanity that I was not dependent on the armor. The Lord Regent of the Imperium must not have weaknesses—and must never rely on any xenos."
His words cast a heavy silence over the hall.
Eden let out a deep sigh. In his heart, he felt only greater respect. Just like the Emperor, this brother of his had sacrificed so much for humanity.
With a snap of his fingers, Eden tried to lift the somber mood.
"Well, since it can come off, that settles it. Off with that clunky thing!"
Now was not the time for brooding. Rest and relaxation were critical, especially to stave off the dark gods who fed on despair and pain.
After all, the Savior was all about hope—and good vibes.
Eden quickly summoned the medicae team and the xenos research sages to assist with the "armor removal" operation.
Before long, under the eyes of the medical staff, tech sages, and Eden himself, Guilliman began to remove the Destiny Armor.
The moment it came off, the hidden wounds on his body flared up, spewing a sickly green mist of toxic Warp energy.
His face contorted in pain, and he could barely stand. Clearly, he wasn't in any condition to recover by himself.
Thankfully, Eden acted swiftly—channeling life energy from the Little Sun into Guilliman to suppress the corruption, followed by two doses of the Savior's Special Formula Panacea to stabilize his condition and soothe his hidden wounds.
Meanwhile, the Tech-Priests collected the Destiny Armor and took it away for study.
The Savior's domain had absorbed a great deal of advanced Aeldari technology. Their goal was to analyze the armor thoroughly, in hopes of one day freeing Guilliman from dependence on it.
Of course, this wouldn't happen overnight, and Guilliman couldn't be without the armor for too long.
For now, they simply performed full scans and collected data to support future research.
The medical team and Aeldari sages would remain by the Lord Regent's side indefinitely—until a real solution was found.
Once Guilliman drank the panacea, his condition stabilized.
The Sisters Hospitaller performed a full check-up to ensure that he was fit for time away from the armor and able to head to the resort.
"My body… feels much better. I think… this might be the most relaxed I've felt since I woke up."
Guilliman could clearly feel it—his body was lighter, his breath smoother, and the pain in his wounds had all but faded.
It was a kind of peace and comfort that others might take for granted—but for him, it was a dream.
He cherished this moment deeply—and felt even more gratitude toward his brother, who cared so much for him.
Such brotherly affection moved the Lord Regent to the point of tears. A warmth that he had nearly forgotten flickered in his chest.
"Damn… that panacea really does the trick…"
Eden clicked his tongue in amazement.
The results were far better than he'd expected.
Though the panacea couldn't solve spiritual damage, it could rapidly regenerate physical trauma—even that caused by Warp corruption. It was a stopgap, not a cure.
Still, it was useful for mitigating esoteric injuries before they could do lasting harm.
The energy of the Little Sun certainly helped too.
Eden casually pointed to a few crates nearby, each filled with Savior-brand special panacea infused with Little Sun energy.
"Guilliman, take a few crates of this stuff with you. Sip some now and then—consider it a daily supplement."
The Lord Regent's eyes widened.
He instantly recognized what these crates held—panacea.
These miracle drugs could heal nearly every known human ailment and injury. Each vial was as precious as a human life.
With it, countless elite warriors could be saved.
The Imperium once possessed the STC to manufacture this miraculous substance.
But that knowledge was lost during the Panacea Wars—stolen by a dark Aeldari archon. Since then, no one had been able to reproduce the formula.
And now, here it was.
His brother, Eden, had it.
Guilliman looked at the crates with reverence. He couldn't bear to waste even a single dose.
He would save them for the brave warriors who needed them most.
Raising his eyes, he looked at Eden, hesitant but hopeful:
"Do you… have the means to manufacture this? This technology… it could save the Imperium—"
Before he could finish, Eden cut him off and tossed him a floral shirt and colorful board shorts.
"Hey, hey, hey! No work talk during vacation! Just send someone later to make a copy. Right now, hurry up and change—everyone's waiting!"
Eden knew Guilliman only asked for the tech for the good of humanity.
Besides, the Lord Regent had just shared the technology for the Primaris Space Marines. Returning the favor was only fair.
Guilliman looked down at the unfamiliar clothes and hesitated.
But after hearing Eden's words, he smiled and changed into the beachwear.
Moments later, three towering warriors wearing sunglasses, floral shirts, and flip-flops strutted out of the hall.
"Buckle up, boys!"
Eden gave the word and slammed the hovercar's accelerator, sending the open-top vehicle roaring toward the resort.
…
Resort Beachfront
The ocean-themed zone featured a man-made beach and artificial sea, lined with palm trees.
The Holy Spire's light mixed with sunlight to bathe the sand in a golden hue. The sound of gentle waves brought peace to the soul.
Listening to the waves, Eden couldn't help but feel sleepy.
"Wahooooo!!"
But before he could drift off, a joyous cry shattered the calm.
Dante had just been launched hundreds of meters into the air by a catapult. He plummeted into the sea with a tremendous splash, sending three-meter waves crashing ashore.
"Damn!"
Eden jolted upright, quickly conjuring a psychic shield to block the water.
Watching Dante roll happily in the waves, he felt a bit drained.
This guy was getting more and more unhinged.
Could it be a new personality?
Of course, Eden would never admit that Dante was imitating him—and that he had done the exact same stunt before.
Still, seeing Dante so lively brought Eden a strange sense of comfort.
After all, this was a warrior who had fought for the Imperium for centuries, who had been so broken and weary that he longed for death. To see him enjoying life, even briefly, was a good thing.
Eden sipped from a coconut.
"Guilliman, what do you say—should we take a flight too?"
No answer.
Turning his head, he saw that Guilliman had already fallen asleep on the lounge chair.
Even in sleep, the Lord Regent's face remained stoic, carved like marble. But the tension in his brow had finally faded, and the exhaustion was gone.
He was sleeping peacefully.
And that… was a good thing.
This man had carried too many burdens, endured too much pain. He'd barely had time to breathe, let alone sleep.
He deserved this.
"Not bad… seems like it's working."
Eden nodded in satisfaction, careful not to disturb him.
To ensure Guilliman could truly rest, he had filled the beach with sleep-enhancing incense.
And added a heavy dose of tranquilizers—strong enough to knock out several Catachan Devil bulls—into the Regent's coconut water.
Eden lay back on his own lounge chair and closed his eyes, savoring the peace.
In the hellish galaxy they lived in, such moments were rare.
Especially for warriors like Dante and Guilliman.
Even he, the Savior, rarely had the chance to rest.
Because war was coming again—soon.
Above Baal, a massive fleet was gathering, blanketing entire star systems in its shadow. Supplies were being loaded, ship by ship.
In just a few days, the Savior and the Regent would depart for the Dim Reach, to fight humanity's enemies once more.
War is never easy.
No matter how well the plan is laid, a war against Chaos is always fraught with peril. Even Guilliman, even Eden himself, could fall at any moment.
And this time… they were going after Abaddon.
Into the Eye of Terror itself.
The den of Chaos.
Where more than just Abaddon waited—many dark forces roamed there.
Eden exhaled deeply, unease flickering in his chest.
Perhaps, while he was setting his plan in motion…
…Chaos was laying a far crueler trap in return.
(End of Chapter)
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