Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor

According to the expedition team's report:

They'd discovered a portal leading to the Macragge system and its various planets—a gate large enough to accommodate an entire army at once.

This news delighted Eden. He had been prepared to go alone if necessary, since many previously discovered gates had only been a few meters wide, barely big enough for one warrior at a time, effectively creating a single-file deathtrap. But this newly found portal stretched over fifty meters across. He could bring a small army through at once, giving him a secure means to rush to the battlefield.

Of course, that force's primary mission would be to protect him—long enough to deploy the Holy Ash Shell. As for which army to bring, Eden hadn't decided yet.

"At last... I've been stuck in this backwater for so many years, it's time to make contact with the outside galaxy."

Eden felt both nervous and excited. After years of quietly developing his domain and building up an army—like a beginner grinding levels in a safe zone—he was about to step onto the main stage of the galaxy's greatest war.

Specifically, the upcoming battle to awaken Guilliman. So many different factions would converge:

Attackers:

Abaddon's Chaos Space Marines: Iron Warriors, The Purge, Night Lords, and so on. Ka'Bandha, the Greater Daemon of Khorne, leading a daemonic horde.

Defenders:

Belisarius Cawl, Archmagos of the Adeptus Mechanicus, heir to the Omnissiah, a 10,000-year-old master of splitting his consciousness and replacing nearly his entire body with machinery. An old fox if ever there was one.

Saint Celestine, the Living Saint, a silver-haired winged angel radiating holy light who can even resurrect allies.

Inquisitor Greyfax, one of the most notorious, zealous, and ruthless Inquisitors in the galaxy, convinced just about everyone might be heretics.

Yvraine, the Harbinger of the Eldar's Death God, extremely powerful and nearly immortal, able to summon the death-god's avatar.

Guilliman, a Primarch on the cusp of awakening, set to become the Imperium's second greatest champion.

Additionally, you had the lucky survivors of Cadia, the Black Templars, the Grey Knights, some Eldar warhosts, plus Marneus Calgar, Chief Librarian Tigurius, and the massed Ultramarines. Finally, there was Eden himself—the so-called Savior—and his unknown forces.

Of course, Eden would be wearing a disguise. He couldn't reveal his true identity. Otherwise, Abaddon and Ka'Bandha would almost certainly target him and his domain in retaliation. On top of that, the Imperium's own people might come after him, especially that crazy lady Greyfax.

"Gah, this is such a mess—no wonder it's the galaxy's ultimate free-for-all."

It made Eden's head spin as he skimmed the notes he'd jotted on his dataslate.

He'd originally planned to piece together the war's timeline so he could prepare countermeasures, but it was too complicated. Ultimately, he summarized it this way:

Abaddon launched the 13th Black Crusade. After a chaotic series of conflicts, he basically lost at Cadia, so he threw a fit and rammed the planet with a Blackstone Fortress, destroying Cadia. Both sides retreated.

Thinking he'd pulled out a small victory, Abaddon was ready to pop champagne when a sorcerer's prophecy warned: Belisarius Cawl possessed an artifact so crucial it could change the outcome of the war.

Cawl and Cadia's survivors had joined forces with the Eldar and were heading through the Webway to Macragge. Alerted, Abaddon dispatched a Chaos fleet to pursue them. There were several battles along the way, with new forces continually intervening, culminating in one massive showdown on Macragge.

Now Ka'Bandha was also butting in, which further muddied the situation. Current intel was too tangled to be sure exactly which stage the war had reached.

"Ugh, I guess I'm not cut out for strategy. I'll just wait and do some big, heroic smash-and-grab when the battle hits its peak."

He cast aside his dataslate. The best approach was to focus on Macragge. The moment the conflict reached its decisive point, he would bring in his forces, deliver one big strike, and call it a day.

Suddenly, Eden remembered something else: Saint Celestine, the silver-haired, winged "angel." Was she beautiful? Probably so.

She always showed up with these pure white wings, holy radiance, and even white doves. The holy aura made sense, but spontaneously summoning doves was next-level style points. She was basically the Imperium's top idol, personally chosen by the Emperor.

Plus, she was really strong—she'd once run Abaddon straight through with her blade at Cadia, giving him a nasty wound. Her power and status were on par with a Greater Daemon of Chaos. She could come back to life again and again, just like them.

Eden shook his head, mumbling quietly: "I probably shouldn't be having these kinds of blasphemous thoughts... Emperor, sorry, I didn't mean it like that..."

He genuinely envied the Emperor and the Chaos Gods for their ability to choose champions who could be resurrected indefinitely, providing unstoppable, immortal warriors under their command. In contrast, while Eden's little sun could bless his troops, once they died, they were simply gone. Losing even a few would break his heart.

Wonder when his little sun might gain that kind of resurrection ability...

"Savior,"

Linda, his head maid, approached with a clear, pleasant voice: "The nobles from the Sairen System are waiting to be received by you, as well as—"

She ran through his schedule.

"Clear my calendar. Have Bayev show them around the holy sites or something, let them 'learn advanced beliefs.'"

Eden waved dismissively. He couldn't be bothered with official ceremonies now. All his focus was on the imminent war. He rose from the ornate throne, hopping onto a lavish, jewel-studded hover chair nearby.

"This hall is ridiculously big..."

He muttered as he floated away. It took over ten minutes just to reach the exit on foot, so he cranked up the speed on his hover chair.

…

After commanding the Department of Military Affairs to make ready, Eden began preparations. First, he visited a secret base to retrieve the enhanced Holy Ash Shell and its custom launcher, so he could lug it into battle the moment he arrived.

Next, he dropped by the workshop to check on progress for his custom power armor—a daemonic-style suit that was nearly complete.

Worn, it stood at almost six meters tall, a small walker in its own right, with a fearsome helmet design. Donning it turned Eden into the spitting image of a horned, monstrous idol. But he still wasn't satisfied, so he told the Tech-Priests to make it even more over-the-top, adding mechanical gimmicks for dramatic effects.

He even wanted giant vampire bats swirling around as part of his entrance. So the Bioresearch Department cloned a batch of chaos-tainted vampire bats about a meter long. After all, Saint Celestine had her iconic doves, so Eden's menacing vampiric swarm was only fair.

Of course, that was just a side show for Eden's amusement; the real matter was choosing the troops. He decided not to bring Carter, Duke, or any of his Space Marines. After all, he wouldn't be going as "the Savior," and dragging them along might negatively affect their public image, complicating future plans. He'd involve them under official Imperium sanction another time—once "the Savior" identity was accepted.

That acceptance, presumably, would need the Emperor's endorsement. Maybe the Emperor could nudge Guilliman via a dream or sign. Guilliman was a bit resistant to the idea of worshipping the Emperor as a god, but he was relatively open-minded and might accept it if it came directly from his father.

Still, Eden's domain wasn't yet strong enough to withstand all the galaxy's meddling, so it was best to keep a low profile until he'd unified the sector and built up enough power to face any threat. For now, let Guilliman, the Imperium's shining star, handle the big stuff. Eden would quietly develop on the side.

Hence, Eden planned to choose a contingent of heavily armed Genestealers and elite Ork warriors to accompany him. Let the cunning Genestealers "defend the realm," while the Orks "lay down their lives for the cause," so to speak—giving both Chaos and the Imperium a shock. He'd show them the meaning of "true loyalty!" And hopefully obscure any direct link to his domain.

…

Within the Webway...

At a portal entrance...

Thud, thud, thud—

The ground trembled slightly. A heavily armored, four-armed Genestealer towering more than four meters emerged. It was fitted with multiple heavy cannons and chain-blade weapons. Its eyes glowed red, exuding a daunting aura. Most striking of all was the Imperial Aquila emblazoned on its chest—polished to a bright gleam, testifying to its unwavering "loyalty!"

This heavily armed Genestealer wore armor partly derived from Space Marine power armor tech.

Over the years, Eden's xenos lab had been carefully training and upgrading these Genestealers, forging them into lethal shock troops.

Eden had even bestowed a second round of blessings upon the strongest among them, a serious investment that yielded big returns—these double-blessed Genestealers easily surpassed normal Space Marines.

Waaagh!!!

A roar came from a green-skinned Ork Warboss who had also received a second blessing. Wielding a massive choppa, it charged forward with a furious swing. Its blood-red blade slammed into the Genestealer's heavy armor.

Clang! The Genestealer blocked the blow, then slashed back with its claws, sparks flying from the colliding metals.

"Raaaagh—"

"Waaaagh—"

All around, more heavily armed Genestealers and Orks gathered, cheering and howling as the two fighters clashed. They were simply brawling for fun to kill time.

Not far away stood a terrifying figure over five meters tall, with large swirling vampire bats giving off faint black smoke. Their screeching created quite a spectacle. But that monstrous figure was utterly still, as if dormant. Beneath its feet was a comfortable lounger.

"Damn it, lost again. Kaul's probably cheating!"

In reality, Eden was reclining lazily on that chair in his monstrous armor, an arcade-like device in hand. He angrily tossed it aside, gulping an iced cola as he flopped back like a salted fish.

"How come there's still no movement?"

For days, he and nearly a thousand double-blessed Genestealers and Ork elites had been loitering near the portal, ready to head to Macragge in an instant. Days before, Eden had stealthily sent intel to Macragge, trying to warn them.

But from what he could tell, the Ultramarines were already making their own preparations—no doubt their Librarians had sensed something. Either way, Eden's intelligence would help them fine-tune their defense.

If the situation took a bad turn, Eden would immediately charge in to help. But after days of waiting, Macragge was relatively calm—only an increasing number of warships gathering in orbit. Eden pulled his visor down and lay back, figuring he should rest and conserve energy. Warfare was raging across the Five Hundred Worlds, but who knew when it would reach Macragge?

Who'd suspect that amid a grand interstellar war, a secret "old six" (a sneak waiting on the sidelines) was hunkered down with a super weapon, ready to step in at the critical moment? Indeed, the "great Savior" worried himself sick on Guilliman's behalf...

Suddenly, Eden snapped upright, pulling the visor away. His brow furrowed in concern:

"It's started..."

——

A Strike Cruiser…

Inside the darkened hold, there was a hiss of mechanical respirators—artificial piston-lungs steadily pumping. A hunched figure draped in crimson robes loomed, an amalgam of complex machinery and implants that nearly crushed his frail human frame.

It was Belisarius Cawl. He silently stared at some large mechanical device in front of him. Ten thousand years had passed—an unimaginable length of time. Even the longest-lived Archmagi typically only lasted about a thousand years before either going insane or breaking down entirely. Yet Cawlstill lived, albeit with a faulty memory.

He had forgotten so much, so many experiences lost. What knowledge he'd let slip from his memory alone exceeded what many Tech-Priests learned in their entire lifetime.

But there was one thing he never forgot—the agreement he'd made with the Emperor's Thirteenth Son all those millennia ago. At last, the moment had come to fulfill that pledge.

Why so late? Cawl's mechanical mind flickered through thousands of years of historical data. Suddenly, a snarky sub-personality in his brain cackled: "You senile old fool, you just forgot about it for a few millennia!"

"Logically speaking...that's probably correct..." Cawl replied after a moment's silence. Regardless, he had arrived with everything needed to resurrect that Emperor's Son. Within the sacred casket lay the Armor of Fate, and with it, Yvraine, the Aeldari lady who could operate its arcane powers. He possessed all the means to heal that Son of the Emperor.

Rumble—

Heavy gunfire shook the cruiser, the thunder of cannons snapping Cawl from his binary trance. Multiple sets of eyes pivoted, scanning the area as his mind shifted into combat mode. A third-tier life-support system channeled energy into his weapon boosters, and arcs of electricity crackled across his mechanical carapace. Faint bursts of Techna-Lingua rose from him like incense.

"Report position."

Within milliseconds came the answer: they were...above Macragge!

(End of Chapter)

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