Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor
Chapter 393 - 394 – Abaddon: No, Regent, It’s You Who Has Lost!

When the Black Legion's lair—Savaraghar—was set ablaze by the Chaos Reaver, the situation in the Obscurus Sector had already shifted.

The Arks of Omen had long since concluded their battle and reversed course, heading back to the Eye of Terror...

—

Two months earlier.

Obscurus Sector, edge of the Nachmund Corridor.

Macro cannons, lances, and torpedo detonations lit up the void. Corrupted mechanical claws and foul-smelling bio-acid projectiles frequently tore through ship hulls.

Imperial and Chaos fleets circled and maneuvered through the system, exchanging fire. The Regent and Abaddon kept hurling ships into each other's weak points, seeking to inflict maximum damage.

BOOM—

The Planet Killer's primary cannon finished charging and unleashed a blazing beam of annihilation, obliterating a massive warship and several nearby escorts in a single strike.

Yet even this attack was but a cornered beast's struggle—it could not reverse the Chaos fleet's failing momentum.

Soon, overwhelming volumes of shipborne firepower hammered the Planet Killer. Its many-layered void shields shimmered with spatial arcs and began to falter.

More concerning was the Regent's flagship, Glory of Macragge, advancing under the cover of a battle group. Salvos of torpedoes cleared out every Chaos warship brave enough to stand in its path.

...

Aboard the Planet Killer.

Chaos crew members carried out their duties with mechanical precision, calmly executing orders and coordinating fleet movements, unbothered by the deteriorating situation.

In the command deck, dozens of Chaos Space Marines in pitch-black armor stood guard.

These warriors were significantly larger than the average soldier. Each bore blood-misted, mutated weapons, and their trophy racks were adorned with skulls of Imperial warriors.

Their loincloths were stitched from the flayed faces of human officers—symbols of their deadly prowess.

They were the Bringers of Despair, elite Chaos Terminators personally selected from the Black Legion by the Warmaster. Each bore a legacy of countless triumphs.

Serving as Abaddon's personal guard, they exuded a palpable aura of death and dread.

And their presence signified one thing—Abaddon himself was here.

In the observation dome, a dark red bone-and-blood throne loomed. Atop it sat a towering figure.

He watched the war unfold beneath him, calculating his next move.

"Foolish spawn of the False Emperor... you don't realize you're walking into the abyssal trap I've laid for you."

Abaddon's crimson eyes flickered with smug anticipation as he watched the Glory of Macragge inch closer on the starmap.

Weeks ago, he had suffered a bitter defeat at Dalova. Only the gods' intervention—a Warp storm conjured by the Chaos pantheon—had allowed him to escape with a sliver of breathing room.

But the Regent's fleet remained relentless in pursuit, growing increasingly difficult to shake.

No matter how he tried to evade or obscure his trail, they always found him, placing the Planet Killer under constant threat of destruction—something that had never happened before.

With no other choice, he summoned several Chaos fleets from the Obscurus frontline to delay his pursuers, but even that had yielded little. Defeat had followed him like a shadow.

Finally, however, the end was near.

The Ark of Omen fleet stationed at the Eye of Terror was en route. And soon, Chaos Lord Reaver Alagaster, a conqueror of a thousand worlds, would arrive with his forces.

If Alagaster could pin the Regent down long enough, then once the Ark of Omen—wrought by the Black Legion's foul tech—arrived, the First Indomitus Crusade Fleet would be annihilated!

"The tide is turning..."

Abaddon rose from his throne, his presence suffocating. A cruel grin twisted his lips.

"The shame I suffered will be repaid... in blood."

He turned to his Thousand Sons lieutenant.

"How long until Alagaster reaches the designated location?"

"According to the sorcerers, one standard Terran hour, my lord."

Abaddon's smirk widened.

"Then let the annihilation cannon continue its work. Slaughter more of them. The spawn of the False Emperor must be provoked—only then will he rush headlong into my trap."

The lieutenant bowed.

"Your brilliance shall be fulfilled to the letter!"

With the Warmaster's command, the Planet Killer began another killing spree, heedless of strategic concerns or defensive positioning. Its only purpose: destruction.

It targeted the scattered battle groups, sowing terror and devastation.

And just as expected, this enraged the Regent. His forces accelerated their assault, and the Glory of Macragge plunged deeper into enemy lines.

...

One hour later.

Aboard the Planet Killer.

Abaddon stared at the Glory of Macragge, now frighteningly close.

But the designated coordinates for his reinforcements were still ominously vacant. No fleet. No Alagaster.

His brow furrowed. The trap had become a noose.

"Where is Alagaster? Where is my fleet?!"

If the reinforcements failed to arrive, this painstakingly orchestrated ambush would reverse—he would be the one surrounded.

At that point, escaping the Regent's wrath would become nearly impossible.

The Thousand Sons lieutenant, pressured by the Warmaster's fury, was visibly unsettled.

His eyes sparked with violet lightning.

"Please wait, my lord—I'll contact them immediately!"

With the help of several sorcerers, the lieutenant raised a ritual array and attempted to commune with the absent fleet.

Zzzzzt—

Suddenly, the dark-purple Warp ritual trembled violently—and streaks of blood-red energy began to creep across it.

"No—it's a daemon! A damned daemon!"

The lieutenant screamed in terror, as if he had seen something unspeakable. Warp energy devoured him.

Then, from his eyes and mouth, a torrent of raw sorcery erupted, projecting a terrifying image:

A blood-soaked void. A monstrous winged daemon shadow looming above the burning Chaos fleet.

The Chaos Lord's ships were under daemonic assault.

Even worse—a titanic daemon, a living mountain of flesh and hatred, was tearing through ships.

Alagaster's mutilated body dangled from a spine jutting out of the daemon's back. His eyes bled. His jaw hung open in a silent scream.

The Chaos Lord was dead—his head a grisly trophy.

And he wasn't the only one.

Other skulls, many, many others, were skewered on bone spikes, chained to the titan's limbs, or stitched onto a cloak hundreds of meters long.

Even from this magical projection, the oppressive aura of those skulls was unmistakable.

They had once belonged to champions—Ork warlords, Drukhari raiders, Necron Overlords, Chaos Lords, Tyranid bioforms... all now trophies.

ROAR—

The massive daemon howled at the sky, a surge of unholy power tearing open a rift in reality.

After claiming his prize, the Supreme Bloodthirster vanished into the Warp—leaving only flaming wreckage behind.

It was as if he'd appeared for that one skull alone.

And then... he left.

His next destination: one of the Chaos Realms, his purpose unknown.

"Ka'Bandha?!"

Abaddon shouted, aghast, as the image of the daemon burned into his eyes.

"That damned Greater Daemon of Khorne—he's gone mad!"

This was a nightmare he had never accounted for.

Even an ambush by the Regent would've been preferable to this.

That insane daemon had grown exponentially stronger—perhaps beyond any daemon Abaddon had ever encountered.

But the worst part?

Before Ka'Bandha departed, he looked back—he had sensed Abaddon's gaze.

He knew.

He was hungry for Abaddon's skull.

Khorne's daemons were all mad, but this one was a madman among madmen!

Abaddon couldn't tell if this was Ka'Bandha acting alone, or if it was a warning from Khorne himself.

But one thing was clear.

Facing Ka'Bandha now—with the Regent on his heels—was suicide.

Thankfully, the daemon had gone.

Abaddon exhaled in relief—just in time for the Planet Killer to tremble under renewed bombardment.

"The plan... has failed."

His chest ached.

With Alagaster's fleet annihilated, he now had to face the Regent alone, holding out until the Ark of Omen could arrive.

To make matters worse, his trap had become a cage. He was surrounded.

Abaddon slumped back onto his bone-and-blood throne and took a deep breath.

"Break through. We must endure until reinforcements arrive..."

But deep down, he was bleeding.

Failure after failure gnawed at his resolve.

For the first time, the Despoiler of Worlds began to doubt.

Had he fallen into the Changer of Ways' web?

"Surely... it can't get worse than this... right?"

That was what he told himself.

He was wrong.

...

Command Hall, Glory of Macragge

A tactical star chart was suspended in the air, displaying the battlefield. Countless red and blue dots marked the positions of friendly and enemy formations.

Volradi, commander of the Third Fleet of the Redeemer Armada, was coordinating the entire operation, steadily tightening the encirclement.

Each of his commands brought devastating blows to the Chaos fleet.

"What an excellent commander..."

The Lord Regent Guilliman stood to the side, overseeing the overall situation but not intervening. In truth, there was little he needed to do.

Volradi had breathed new life into the Indomitus Fleet. He could swiftly pinpoint enemy concentrations, preventing Chaos Warmaster Abaddon from slipping away.

He had also predicted various risks and prudently deployed a reserve fleet.

Those reserves had proven critical.

Not long ago, the Indomitus Fleet had received intelligence of approaching enemy reinforcements. Volradi had immediately dispatched his reserves to ambush the Chaos Lord's strike group attempting a flanking attack.

"Still, that kid might be too cautious... he keeps suspecting the enemy is hiding their true strength and refuses to commit our full forces."

Guilliman looked at Volradi with genuine admiration.

Even so, that "kid" was more than capable—capable enough to free the Primarch from direct command and allow him to focus on greater matters.

He was already contemplating how to keep Volradi within the Indomitus Crusade.

Suddenly, a combat report arrived and interrupted his thoughts.

Guilliman opened the message and frowned in disbelief.

"The Chaos Lord's fleet was destroyed... by Ka'Bandha, the Supreme Bloodthirster?!"

According to the report, before the reserve fleet could strike, Ka'Bandha had descended with a daemon horde and obliterated the enemy formation.

The reserve fleet's commander had wisely withdrawn from the engagement area to avoid being caught in the slaughter.

Later recon confirmed the daemonic horde had annihilated the Chaos fleet's core elements with shocking speed and then returned to the Warp.

When the reserve fleet returned, they easily mopped up the remnants.

Guilliman didn't understand what exactly had transpired, but one thing was certain—it worked in their favor.

He remembered something from the Baal campaign...

During one drunken celebration, his brother Eden had mentioned that Ka'Bandha was loyal to the Imperium. That if one encountered him in the future, it was best not to engage unless absolutely necessary.

At the time, Guilliman didn't understand.

Now, perhaps, he did.

"Could that have been a prophecy...?"

He knew his brother possessed powerful psychic abilities and perhaps even prophetic foresight.

Even now, Guilliman didn't fully grasp the connection—but if Eden said it, there must've been a reason.

After finishing the report, Guilliman turned and left the command hall with his adjutant Felix. With the hidden threat eliminated, the fleet no longer required his oversight.

He could now act.

Specifically, personally board the Planet Killer and slay the Warmaster of Chaos.

Though the Indomitus Fleet had the Planet Killer surrounded, Chaos was treacherous. Only by striking himself could he ensure Abaddon's demise.

Destroying the ship meant nothing if the Warmaster escaped.

Soon, under heavy bombardment, hundreds of boarding torpedoes slammed into the massive Planet Killer.

The Lord Regent led his honor guard and many Primaris Space Marines in a direct assault, breaching the enemy flagship and charging toward Abaddon's position!

—

Aboard the Planet Killer

In the corrupted, sprawling corridors of the Chaos flagship, bolter fire and clashing blades filled the air with thunder.

The ship was a war zone in every direction.

Giant figures clad in gleaming blue ceramite marched forward. The Emperor's Sword blazed with fire, slicing through decaying Chaos Marines and reducing them to ash and gore.

"For Courage and Glory!"

Guilliman pointed his burning sword toward the command bridge. Hundreds of Primaris warriors stormed behind him, bringing death to the legions of Chaos.

From the enemy lines, frenzied Chaos sorcerers shrieked and unleashed unstable Warp energy, summoning swarms of daemons.

But the tide of daemons could not withstand the storm of bolt fire.

And the Librarians of the Adeptus Astartes responded with even stronger psychic lightning, slaying the sorcerers in screams of agony.

Guilliman's forces were breaking through with incredible speed, closing in on the bridge where the Chaos Warmaster sat upon his throne.

Inside the Bridge.

"My warriors, ready yourselves for battle!"

Abaddon gripped his Chaos daemon sword, a weapon writhing with countless screaming faces. His face was so dark it could've bled shadows.

The spawn of the False Emperor had arrived faster than expected—and the enemy psykers had disrupted the local space, preventing him from escaping through the ship's teleportation systems.

Now, he had no choice but to fight under dire circumstances.

From a strategic standpoint, this was irrational and dangerous.

But it was the only option left.

BOOM—

The bridge doors burst open.

Scores of Primaris warriors surged in, clashing with Chaos Marines.

Abaddon and his Bringers of Despair charged to meet them. With a roar, his daemon sword struck like a thunderbolt, annihilating the first rank of loyalist Marines in a single slash.

Several warriors were hurled into the air, smashing against broken alloy walls. Their armor shattered, their souls devoured by the daemon sword—becoming new wailing faces along its blade.

Seeing this, the Primaris adjusted their formation and opened fire, unloading clip after clip of Warp-tipped ammunition into Abaddon.

His black armor glowed under the impact, some rounds even piercing into his flesh.

But the damage was minimal. If anything, it provoked him further.

With a roar of pain and fury, Abaddon raised the Talon of Horus—the legendary lightning claw. Its Chaos-powered projectiles ripped through the attackers, sending bloody chunks flying.

Unstoppable, he forced the loyalist line to retreat.

Yet just a few moments later, he was halted.

The Lord Regent had arrived.

"Heretic. Your death is at hand!"

A flash of blue streaked across the bridge, bypassing a storm of gunfire.

Guilliman struck, swinging the Emperor's Sword in a blazing arc straight at Abaddon.

CLANG—

The daemon sword and the Emperor's Sword collided, unleashing a shockwave that blew apart rubble and debris.

Even a brief clash released the scent of searing flesh—daemons within the Chaos sword howled in agony as golden flame scorched them. More Warp energy spilled out.

Sensing danger, Abaddon lashed out with the Talon of Horus, aiming for Guilliman's exposed throat.

Had it struck true, the claw—once stained with the blood of both Primarch and Emperor—might have claimed another Primarch's life.

But Guilliman neither dodged nor blocked.

He grasped the Talon of Horus with his own gauntlet.

The pressure between them made the air ripple.

Guilliman stared down the ancient weapon, thunder and fury flashing in his eyes. His teeth clenched in righteous anger.

"You are not worthy to wield this traitor's weapon!"

He slowly forced the Talon back, then headbutted Abaddon with such force that the Warmaster reeled, stunned.

In that moment, Abaddon felt the tug of his father's relic being wrested away. It jolted him awake.

He realized the blue-armored giant was trying to take it from him.

It was an insult.

"No!"

Rage ignited within Abaddon. The blessings of the Four Chaos Gods surged through him. Their multicolored energies twisted together, empowering him.

With a bestial scream, he broke free and launched a savage counterattack.

The two titans clashed again and again. Their weapons and armored forms collided with such speed that no ordinary eye could follow. _{free.w e bn.ov(e)l(.)com}

The average soldier could not even perceive their movements, let alone interfere.

Golden flame and Chaos energies of four hues exploded with every strike. The shockwaves tore the bridge apart, collapsing entire sections.

But Guilliman—restored by the Savior's divine healing—was stronger than ever.

Each of his blows left wounds on Abaddon. The Emperor's power scorched the very blessings granted by the Chaos Gods.

Guilliman roared.

This was the greatest battle he had fought since his return.

No ambush.

No deceit.

No trickery.

Just strength versus strength—at his absolute peak.

It was exhilarating.

Perhaps this was the good fortune Eden had given him.

BOOM!!!

Abaddon was sent flying, crashing through his bone-and-blood throne.

He coughed up black blood, struggling to rise.

But his limbs felt heavy, his strength fading.

The next moment—

A blue giant's shadow loomed over him.

"Abaddon. You've lost."

Guilliman's armor was scarred. His body bore several wounds.

But he stood tall, towering over the Chaos Warmaster. With one boot, he crushed the Talon of Horus beneath his heel.

His face was hard and filled with disgust.

He raised the Emperor's Sword high, ready to end this heretic. To reclaim the foul weapon stained by his father's and brother's blood.

"No."

Abaddon lifted his head, a twisted grin splitting his blood-smeared face.

"It's you who have lost... spawn of the False Emperor."

BZZZZZT—

Suddenly, behind Guilliman, a flood of Chaos energy tore open a warp rift.

(End of Chapter)

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