"Carry out the purge.
Eliminate as much of the Chaos host in the Daemon Palace sector as possible."
Eden issued the order to his newly appointed deputy, Aharin, the Burning Legion's senior commander.
He would have Aharin lead the Burning Legion to mop up the remaining enemies in the Daemon Palace sector, including Angron's World Eaters and Lorgar's Word Bearers, among others.
Once this powerful army joined the war in full, he would be able to pacify the unrest on Kalistede far more quickly.
"That is the correct choice," Perturabo said softly, watching the Pale Scions depart. "Only after this battle will the Burning Legion truly take shape, forming a unified will."
Eden finished reviewing the final page of the documents and looked up.
"Yes. But we will not stay here for long. In three days, we depart for Oelensis.
A more important war awaits us there."
A legion assembled in haste like this needed time to bed in; otherwise, he would not dare take it straight into the Realm of Chaos.
If the Burning Legion fractured or rebelled after they arrived, he would be caught in a pincer from both sides.
As he spoke, Eden walked outside with Perturabo to the terrace level of the living Chaos fortress.
This Chaos fortress was now the mount and war-chariot of the Chaos Warmaster and Lord of Hell.
Amid the thunder of colossal mechanical feet, the inverted mountain range slid backward in their wake.
The Chaos fortress led the Burning Legion in a rapid march, racing to the other fronts where their brother-primarchs were engaged.
A massive banner—mark of the Chaos Warmaster—snapped in the wind, emblazoned with the wicked skull-visage of Diablo the Destroyer.
It was the Burning Legion's sigil.
Eden watched the winding Chaos host, its ranks smoldering with faint crimson flame, and felt an unbidden sense of accomplishment.
"Now I've got armies on both sides—Imperium and Chaos—both are mine, all my people. How are those traitors supposed to fight me?"
"With the Burning Legion's support, Lion and the Khan should be under no real pressure."
He considered whether to send some Chaos elites to assist those two brothers—ideally, to help encircle and crush the Traitor Primarchs.
Unfortunately, intelligence reported that Lion, the Khan, and even Angron and Lorgar had all vanished without a trace.
"From the spatial data I've analyzed, this planet is drawing closer to a daemon world, deepening its connection to the warp," Perturabo explained, the auxiliary cogitation arrays on his helm flickering as they worked. "This Daemon Palace sector links to too many Chaos realms. The Lion and the others likely entered warp space to fight. They are no longer on this planet."
"I can locate them, but it will take several days."
"No need." Eden shook his head and rejected the proposal. "We do not have that much time. I believe the Lion can solve it."
They had to reach Oelensis as soon as possible. The old man was imprisoned in the Lord of Pleasure's domain—Emperor only knew how many "little whips" he had already taken.
Better to haul him out quickly.
Not long after, Eden led the Burning Legion into the war zones overseen by the other brothers.
To avoid friendly fire, he ordered the relevant Imperial formations to disengage temporarily and redeploy to other sectors in support.
"All units cease engagement. Redeploy immediately to Sector Three!"
After Afka received the command from headquarters, he led the Dark Angels in a swift relocation.
From the inverted mountain range, they watched with their own eyes as the terrifying Chaos legion—wreathed in flame—advanced into the combat zone.
He reported what he had seen.
The reply from command, however, was blunt: the Dark Angels were to avoid contact and were not to provoke any conflict.
Then the voice of Fifth Company Master Lazarus came over the vox, edged with a faint tremor of fear.
"Holy Terra's sun… Am I seeing things, or is that not our Savior-Emperor?!"
"…What?"
Afka was utterly baffled. He raised his head to the direction Lazarus indicated—and saw the familiar figure upon the Chaos fortress.
Their primarch of hope, the Savior, stood at the very core of the Chaos host's command nexus, awe-inspiring and sovereign.
His crimson cloak snapped and flared. His True-One Armour was coiled in layer upon layer of balefire.
Such warp-wreathed majesty—so heavy with Chaos—made even exalted Chaos champions and Bloodthirsters bow their heads before him.
"By the Emperor… how is this possible…"
Afka realized what he was seeing and nearly suffered cardiac arrest on the spot.
At that moment, the Savior looked more fallen than a Traitor Primarch.
"My lord… that is the Savior-Emperor, isn't it? That being is actually within Chaos—" Lazarus looked as though the sky had collapsed. He could not believe it. Had the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, truly defected to Chaos?
"Silence!" Afka shot the Company Master a sharp glare and barked, "We will not commit any blasphemy against that being.
Even if this is real, it is because the Savior-Emperor has conquered the forces of Chaos—not because he has been influenced by them.
That is holy conquest!"
Afka held little doubt toward the Savior—especially after receiving the secrecy order from above.
No one would believe the Savior-Emperor would betray the Imperium. That was no different from the blasphemous rumor claiming the God-Emperor was a Fifth Chaos God.
This was the value of a sacred, authoritative image.
Even if the Imperium's people witnessed the Savior standing among Chaos with their own eyes, they would still conclude he was executing a grand design—moving pieces on a board too vast for mortals to grasp.
After that, Afka did not linger. He quickly led the Dark Angels away from the region.
…
Outside the Daemon Palace.
Anti-grav heavy vehicles—White Falcons—roared across the battlefield, flashing blades severing Chaos heads again and again.
More automated war-constructs hammered into the defensive line.
Under the Imperium's assault, the Word Bearers' position teetered on the edge of collapse.
Those abominable machine-soldiers slammed into metal buildings that had been sheathed in daemonic flesh, turning the air into a downpour of metal and corroding gore.
"No retreat! For the Raincaller—For the Holy Father!"
Chaos Lord Cassino forced his troops to hold the flesh-metal bulwark; any who attempted to flee would be beheaded.
Because if the line broke, the force would lose its only shield and would not even have the chance to withdraw.
He roared as he tore apart the abominable constructs charging him, his daemonic body swelling larger.
This Chaos Lord had long since cast aside mortal flesh, choosing instead to share his body with a daemon to gain greater combat power.
He turned and snarled a furious demand.
"Where is the Master of Enchantments? Summon more daemons. We need more warp-born troops!"
"My lord, please wait a moment. The rite is nearly complete…" the ancient Master of Enchantments said shakily, leaning on his bone staff, terrified that the lord would rip him apart.
As he spoke, a new fissure began to form.
The Master of Enchantments was a specialized psyker among the Word Bearers, capable of opening Chaos rifts in realspace to summon vast numbers of daemons.
The rift visibly expanded; daemonic warriors surged forth and threw themselves at the abominable machines.
The arrival of daemons eased the pressure on the line—slightly.
"Too few. Still too few. We cannot hold for long," Cassino growled. Sparks sprayed from his mouth as he spoke.
He knew that without large-scale reinforcements, this line would still fall.
With the abominable machines supporting them, the White Scars' offensive was simply too violent.
Not just here—across the entire Word Bearers warfront.
All they could do was hope that their Raincaller, their gene-sire, would deal with the primarch Khan and reverse the tide.
Yet soon, Cassino received good news: the White Scars' assault was slowing.
They appeared to be withdrawing.
"Has our Holy Father executed the primarch Khan?!" Excitement surged through him as he latched onto the possibility—only for the next report to shatter it.
The White Scars were not retreating because of their Holy Father.
They were retreating because the Chaos Warmaster had arrived.
New support had come.
"Chaos Warmaster?" Cassino stared at the distant fortress and its unfamiliar banner, confused. "After Abaddon's failure, since when did Chaos produce a new Warmaster?!"
From the shape alone, he could tell it was an Iron Warriors construct.
"Perhaps the Lord of Iron has declared himself Warmaster," he mused.
That was plausible. The Lord of Iron had lain in the shadows for a long time. Now that he had emerged in full strength, he would surely unleash a savage offensive against the Imperium.
In such a moment, styling himself Warmaster would allow him to command more Chaos power.
Regardless, it was good news. It meant Chaos strength would rise further.
The Word Bearers cared for faith. Their gene-sire preferred to hide in his towers, pursuing the ultimate mysteries of the gods.
To them, it did not matter who the Warmaster was.
"That being summons me to attend an audience…"
Cassino received a transmission from the Chaos Warmaster and hesitated.
In the end, he obeyed.
After all, with their gene-sire absent, accepting the command of another daemon prince was normal enough.
Chaos warbands had long grown accustomed to this kind of temporary chain of command.
When the Word Bearers had participated in the Black Crusades, they had also accepted the direction of the former Warmaster, Abaddon.
So the Chaos Lord took his honor guard and advanced toward the Warmaster's host. Along the way, he saw other lords arriving for the same summons.
"Perhaps this is a grand crusade—several daemon princes truly joining forces at last."
Cassino's anticipation rose.
This time, perhaps they could finally break the curse of the Black Crusades, break out of the Veiled Expanse, and slaughter their way to Holy Terra!
But the deeper he moved into the legion, the more wrong everything felt.
The Burning Legion?
Since when did the Iron Warriors adopt a new title, and what was this "Lord of Hell" supposed to mean?
His unease persisted until he reached the destination.
"No—this is a trap!"
Cassino saw the World Eaters pinned to the ground, taking six lashes in a single second, and his mind went numb.
He spun to flee—
Too late.
The encirclement had already closed.
They were in the very center of the Burning Legion—no sky to answer, no earth to answer.
Hellguard troops surged in, bold and implacable. In short order, they smashed the Word Bearers' elite to the ground.
Then they ground them down—brutally.
Once the lords and commanders were neutralized, the Burning Legion struck with terrifying speed, breaking and capturing the relevant formations.
They dissolved and atomized the captured Chaos warbands, scattering them into different units to prevent them from re-forming, resisting, or escaping.
And so the legion's size swelled further.
"Digging into the enemy's wall really is the best." Eden grinned as he tallied the new numbers, growing happier by the second. "I wonder if Angron and Lorgar will die of rage."
He did everything possible to atomize the other Chaos Space Marine warbands and blend them into the Iron Warriors and other formations.
As long as his "godsons" stayed stable, his rule would not crack.
The most profitable gain of all was the Word Bearers' special psykers—those Masters of Enchantments.
Those bastards could rip open fissures and summon daemons. Wasn't that the same as giving him the ability to farm warp-born daemonic warriors anytime, anywhere?
Summon daemons continuously, then whip them into obedience until they fused into the Burning Legion.
Even without war, the Burning Legion could keep expanding.
He had no choice.
The Chaos Gods' armies were too vast—truly inexhaustible.
He had to build more Chaos armies to secure his footing within the warp.
Over three days, the Burning Legion swept through multiple sectors, tearing chunks out of the World Eaters and Word Bearers.
They swallowed at least sixty percent of those forces.
Then the legion assembled and set course for the daemon world—Oelensis.
—
The Eye of Terror.
Within the Realm of Chaos, on the outskirts of the daemon world Oelensis.
"This thing is truly deranged… Emperor knows what it's like inside…"
Aboard the Burning Heart, a Blackstone Ark of baleful omen, Eden stared at the blasphemous, twisted celestial body before him and felt gooseflesh ripple across his skin.
The planet ahead was the decadent throne of the Lord of Pleasure, the bane of souls—an eternal trophy cup dedicated to indulgence above all else.
The entire world had been corroded into an obscene shape: not a sphere, but something more like a morbidly obese, exposed female form.
Its surface was laid over with a layer of pale pink flesh-skin.
As the vast Vostoniya Chaos array continued to turn, the Chaos Gods' tentacles reaching into the galaxy thickened, and their influence grew stronger still.
So much so that many regions within the Eye of Terror were becoming nearly indistinguishable from the warp itself—such as this territory of the Lord of Pleasure.
"Several Imperial Chapters fell on Oelensis in the past," Perturabo warned cautiously. "And now it is even more dangerous. We must be vigilant against the corruption within."
The Iron Warriors were undivided; they could be corrupted again and become slaves of the Dark Gods.
Which meant they could not remain there for long.
"Good thing this assault is being carried out by the Burning Legion, not an Imperial force," Eden said, frowning. "Otherwise our losses would be far greater."
According to Inquisitorial records, a large Chapter called the Sentinels had fallen here before.
They turned in place into a Chaos warband, calling themselves the Holy Body Brotherhood, and they delighted in devouring human flesh.
"Still," Eden said, gazing at Oelensis, a hint of anticipation creeping into his voice, "we have so many Chaos warriors and daemons. Our odds of taking this world have increased drastically."
He wanted this planet.
He had formally sounded the clarion of a counteroffensive into the warp. He was in the phase of building up legions and urgently needed more Chaos territory.
Only then could he house those forces—and establish a bridgehead into the Realm of Chaos.
Oelensis sat at the boundary between the galaxy and the warp, making it the perfect initial foothold.
Advance when needed, retreat when needed—ideal in every way.
And Perturabo's Chaos fortress-world, Medengard, was better suited as a forge and logistics base.
"Land. Cleanse every fortress on the planet, then build a new Chaos array."
Eden issued the assault order. Once the garrison on Oelensis was swept aside, he would have a chance to draw in the powers of the Dark Side and turn it into Diablo the Destroyer's Chaos domain.
The Burning Legion began its attacks on orbital defenses and warp fortresses, suppressing interception fire.
More troop carriers and Terror Claws rained down to the surface to execute the battle plan.
A sea of Chaos forces poured into Oelensis.
Eden and Perturabo led the Hellguard, teleporting down to the surface as well.
Their mission was to find the dueling arena and rescue their brother Guilliman.
The moment they arrived, they sensed something was wrong.
"Hah… We've been marked by the Lord of Pleasure," Eden said, stepping on the soft, fleshy ground and looking up at the sky. "Maybe the god has been waiting for us all along."
The Lord of Pleasure's vast phantom loomed overhead, gazing down upon the world.
In response to the threat, the Hellguard immediately formed a defensive position, dense force-fields layered around Eden.
But the Dark God's strike was not physical.
A planet-wide rite pressed down.
Eden's consciousness snapped into darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a familiar realm—the Pleasure Illusion.
"So it's the old place. The intensity's a lot higher, though." Eden's expression hardened, his entire body coiling like a drawn blade. "This won't be easy."
…
Inside the dueling arena.
The Chaos crowd's cheers surged to a fever pitch.
The true challenger had arrived.
The Savior-Emperor.
And the challenge before him was the illusion forged by the Lord of Pleasure.
Corruption at its absolute extreme.
"Brother Eden came to save me!"
Suspended high in the air, Roboute Guilliman sensed the Savior's arrival and nearly wept.
His will had reached its limit. If his brother had not come, he truly would not have held on.
Fortunately, that brother arrived in time. Everything could still be salvaged.
But then Guilliman froze, worry flooding his heart.
Through the Chaos veil of the arena, he could see his brother trapped in the Pleasure Illusion.
"Look who's here," Fulgrim, the Fallen Phoenix, purred as he savored a delicious goblet of blood-wine, growing more excited by the moment.
He looked at Guilliman—battered, torn, his rear a ruin of flesh and scars—and smiled.
"Roboute, you will watch with your own eyes as the Savior sinks into corruption, and the Imperium will witness his fall."
The Savior would fall upon Oelensis, the pleasure-monument, and the entire Imperium would be shown the spectacle.
How thrilling could anything be?
Fulgrim immediately contacted Kairos, the Lord of Change, and ordered him to activate the corruption array—projecting the Savior's image from within the illusion into the psychic network.
Countless Imperial domains would witness this blasphemous scene.
The Savior's sacred, majestic image would be utterly destroyed.
The Imperium's people would never accept a fallen Emperor of the Imperium.
"Traitor bastard. You miscalculated," Guilliman said, forcing down the worry and recalling something that steadied him.
The primarch at his limit let out a cold laugh.
"Brother Eden's will is unshakable—humanity's defiant hope, the Imperium's last bastion of resolve.
That ugly illusion is utterly incapable of—"
He stopped mid-sentence, eyes bulging wide.
It's over.
Brother Eden didn't last even a single second.
He mounted up at full speed—gun in hand—without the slightest resistance.
(End of Chapter)
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