[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor":3,"chapter-warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-546":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1681416,2147,"Chapter 546 547 — Savior: Boarding Into Bedlam—A New Warmaster of Chaos?!","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-546",546,"\u003Cp>>>\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[One Piece: Since I Can't Be A Celestial Dragon, Then A Villain It Is!]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Shokugeki: Starting With The Dark Cooking Society Legacy]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Yu-Gi-Oh!: Undefeated and Ultra-Meta!]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>>>\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Most Power Stones = 1 Point]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Most Reviews = 1 Point]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Most Votes On Poll = 1 Point]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>===========\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden could tell at once—that was the voice of Abaddon the Despoiler.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The howl was so ragged it curdled the blood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was rage and it was lament, a wail riding the warp and echoing across Savadore's void.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It told the whole story: a protagonist suffering a crushing setback, choking on fury, failure, and grief.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Brutal…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden actually felt a flicker of sympathy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was the second time Abaddon's home base had been gutted. All that hard-won stockpile—gone again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If this had happened to him, he'd probably be even more incensed than Abaddon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In that cry he also heard a dream shattering.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Word was Abaddon had been preparing his Fifteenth Black Crusade; looks like this one was over before it began.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Worse than the last.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before long Eden had Abaddon's position pinned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A battered Ark of Omen lay besieged by the Red Corsairs' Blackstone Fortress and a swarm of warships. A Tyranid bio-ship clung to its belly like a barnacle; even the outer hull had become a battlefield.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On that thirty-plus-kilometer mass of rock and wreckage, heretics and xenos of nearly every mighty species in the galaxy were piled into a wild, all-you-can-brawl boarding melee.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Spicy didn't begin to cover it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Clearly, the Despoiler had aggro'd half the galaxy; the joint dogpile of factions and species left him with no way to respond cleanly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Which was one reason he'd failed to stop the looters from hauling off the Blackstone Arks of Omen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Abaddon's done. Odds are he won't even find a window to run.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"That traitor's drowned the Imperium in misery—about time he met a spectacular end. Shame we won't be the ones to finish him.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden and the Khan watched remote feeds streaming back from recon elements and read the field.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was carnage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Ark was sealed both sorcerously and physically—Red Corsairs and other warbands fouled the warp with hexcraft; Aeldari and Necrons layered space-locks and soul-locks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tyranids and Orks by the million clogged what exits remained.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In short, Abaddon, trapped beneath the feeding frenzy, had no way out—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unless he could personally erase every high-tier assailant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To assemble this many enemies at once and trigger a boarding free-for-all of this magnitude? That was… an Abaddon original.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Granted, the Savior had helped—by painting an enormous target on the Despoiler's back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"What's our move?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Khan rolled his shoulders, watching the Savior weigh it. His palms itched; he wanted more xenos and heretic heads for his tally.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But their resource-recovery flotillas had already taken everything that wasn't welded down. The logical play was to withdraw.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I'm thinking.\" Eden frowned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was tempted to pull out; any further delay and their fleets could be dragged into the scrum for real—and that got messy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But a nagging sense said if he simply left now, the wider board would shift against him later.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Eye of Terror—the biggest Chaos nest in the galaxy—might be on the brink of a sea change because of this war.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Maybe he should put a thumb on the scales?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Khan, prep for boarding.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden decided at last, a cold grin carving his face. \"When a bedlam like this comes once in a century, skipping it would be a crime.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Don't you think?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You're right. My White Tiger blade thirsts for heretic blood.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The White Scars Primarch was just as eager.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They headed to the armory, loading themselves down with heavier kit. Thunder Custodians and White Scars Destroyers mustered in strength.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They all knew this would be a hard fight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Out in the dust-wreathed void—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dreamweaver and her screen shifted into a spearhead, the flagship at the point, and burned straight toward the melee.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Imperium fleet's surge did draw eyes—and fire.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hummm—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Red Corsairs' Blackstone Fortress gathered and unleashed a black, Chaos-slicked lance; after vaporizing an Aeldari sails-ship, it punched Dreamweaver square in the prow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But that nightmarish beam barely scuffed the Golden Age relic—only stripping a few layers of void shields.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was why the Savior dared to crash the party.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A regular Imperial battleship or even a flagship would have struggled to eat a salvo from a relic-class fortress.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And the Corsairs lacked the xenos know-how to squeeze true performance out of the Blackstone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No sooner had the Fortress fired than it ate a coordinated counter-barrage from the Savior's fleet and nearby Aeldari. Suddenly, it had bigger problems.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dreamweaver used her speed to break contact and powered on toward the core of the fight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"WAAAGH—!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A junk-asteroid Ork space-fort clapped eyes on the human flagship and surged to close.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gargantuan ballista barrels depressed; a siege bolt nearly a kilometer long slid into place, its grooves packed full of greenskins.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Brother, can our ship stop that?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the jump-deck forward of Dreamweaver's flank, the Khan stared at the incoming siege bolt, jaw tight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Ork fort was too close now; there'd be no time to counter. Worse, the greenskin siege engines were pure physics.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even void shields and stasis fields didn't like those.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Low speed, brute force, primitive design—exactly the bug that tripped Imperial defenses.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What sane species drags medieval siege kit into space—and makes it hit like a macro-cannon or heavy torpedo?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We're too close; we probably can't swat it.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden squinted at the oncoming bolt and felt the weight in his gut. The intimidation factor was real.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not long ago he'd watched a greenskin fort skewer a Chaos battleship with one of those, chain-boarding through the shaft to rip it apart—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then feed the hulk into a fortress-sized gear-crusher.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dreamweaver had just emptied a salvo; she was in a charge cycle. No way she could field a main-battery kill-shot right now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Then we fight it from space…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Khan's mouth went dry as the bolt swelled in their visors. He lit the field on the White Tiger blade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If they couldn't stop it, the flank armor would be punched; the chains would carry a tide of greenskins aboard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And the jump-deck was right in the splash zone. No time to clear it—anyone still here would be sprayed into the void.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Power boots clamped to steel. The White Scars and the troops around them braced to take the hit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bolt grew and grew, the greenskins on it resolving into leering faces.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They even felt the onset of acceleration—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>???\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ship wasn't dodging. It was accelerating—straight into the bolt and the fortress?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>THOOM—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The titanic alloy dart slammed Dreamweaver's flank. After a deafening thud and a rolling shudder, the kilometer-long bolt kicked away—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As if it had struck a wall it could not breach.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Rebound sent shoals of greenskins spinning, their war-rigs caroming across the black like tossed beans.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I thought you said we couldn't stop it?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Khan eyed the flailing green confetti, baffled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Apparently he'd worried for nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We couldn't swat it… but it couldn't punch through, either.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden planted a fist in the face of a greenskin that had landed on the deck; chain-volleys shredded the rest into tumbling drift.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dreamweaver's hull was absurdly tough. A junky Ork siege bolt? Please. Even a Rok's super-massive spiral diamond-drill struggled to bite.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In earlier tests, that monster drill had barely carved scars a few meters deep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bwoo-bwoo-bwoo!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Alarms screamed: all hands find secure holds and brace for extreme impact.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Hold tight, Khan—the big one's coming!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden sounded far too practiced, which made the Primarch snap his gaze up—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A colossal machinery-strewn asteroid grew, swallowing the stars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They were ramming the Ork space-fort at flank speed?!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In any void war, deliberate ramming was a last-ditch mutual kill.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even high-ranking Orks didn't do it lightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"By the Emperor…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Khan was weirdly awed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Were all of the Savior's boarding offensives this feral? They felt more Ork than the Orks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He barked orders at once:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Brace for impact—protect the bikes!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The White Scars flared their escort field generators around their prized mounts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the Ork fort's gun-deck—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Waaagh…?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Warboss stared at the oncoming human juggernaut and just… blanked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So did his boyz, going suddenly quiet as the iron whale filled the sky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They'd never seen an attack this mad and this strong; usually they were the ones doing the ramming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Having the roles flip without warning rattled them hard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And when they saw the cavernous muzzles of the human ship's guns—and the swelling glare of a caged star—they panicked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The deck emptied in a green stampede.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Too late.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dreamweaver's Sanctified Novae Cannon spat an ultra-massive plasma lance that tore down the fort's energy screens, strip-mined its outer armor, and swept its turret fields clean.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before the blossoms of detonation faded, Dreamweaver drove in.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>KRAK—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden watched fire swallow the sky, then the light died; deck-shields surged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He raised a shimmering psychic barrier and braced. \"Throne, that helmsman's a hot-handed maniac. Youth has… spirit.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dreamweaver's captain was a top-of-his-class graduate of Loyalty Collegium—a rocket-promotion phenom now trusted to command the Savior's flagship.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Reckless? Maybe. But the kid knew when to strike—this was the way through to the objective, fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A heartbeat later the already-ruptured fort, hammered by the Novae Cannon, took the full body-check.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dreamweaver's nigh-indestructible hull piled into it; the Rok's inherently ramshackle structure gave way, shattered into a cloud of incandescent rubble.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thud-thud-thud—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Macro-batteries along Dreamweaver's flanks spun up a wall of fire, sweeping aside the largest threats among the drifting boulders.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pebbles pinged off the jump-deck, harmless now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden brushed rock-dust from his gorget as a report came in from the bridge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned to the Primarch. \"Khan—mount up. We're about to board that Ark of Omen!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he spoke, the view from the deck opened wide; through the thinning rubble and greenskin debris loomed the vast hull of the Ark.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Webs of gunfire, lance-light, and ripple-waves stitched the void.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden swung into his dark-golden grav-bike, twisted the throttle—then shot into the black, arrowing for the Ark.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Khan and his veterans kicked their engines and fell in.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Teleporting was impossible—the Ark lay under layered interdictions. Boarding torpedoes and drop-pods would be crazy in this soup.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Which left short-hop vehicle boarding: fast, flexible, with escort fields for cover.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And on a hull this huge, you didn't want to get bogged down on foot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Wahoo—!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden buried the throttle, a dark-gold streak through the crossfire, riding the high of unobstructed speed—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A prickle of danger hit; he jinked—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A crimson lance flayed the space he'd occupied, the air tasting of scorched particles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This place is still too chaotic.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He focused up—threading hazards, knifing around hulks, smashing aside debris with telekinetic flicks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In a mess like this, old-school boarding pods were suicide. If he'd been in a torpedo can or drop-pod just now?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He'd be paste.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even normal \"free\" boarding ran ugly casualty rates for Astartes mid-transit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Didn't stop them—they loved the heartbeat-spiking rush.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ssssst—sssSST—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden's spear of riders slipped through a hull breach.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They crushed a lot of Tyranid chaff on the way in and gunned for the core.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon Eden lifted his magnifier—and saw Abaddon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Despoiler was being mauled by a coalition of heavy hitters:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Huron Blackheart, a Necron Overlord, an Ork Warboss, and a Tyranid Hive Tyrant—among others. It was a meat-grinder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden punched the throttle again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the Black Throne dais—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dozens of elite champions were locked in a death-knot. Black Legionaries bled themselves raw to hold the tide at the steps—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But several enemy lords had punched through and were hammering their master.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They could do nothing—only watch, sick with despair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Huron—you traitor—you've ruined everything!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Abaddon's roar cracked, his hate so dense it seemed to burn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Fifteenth Crusade he had so carefully prepared—gone. The Blackstone Arks he'd hoarded—lost. And the instigator was this Red Corsair king.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Huron had been first to lead a coalition into Savadore—and had opened the door to the xenos.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Abaddon charged, the Talon of Horus scissoring a Chaos Terminator in half, snatching the victim's screaming soul into its faces—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then hewing for the renegade with his daemon-sword, Chaos power erupting in sheets.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Failures don't get to whine like fishwives.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Huron Blackheart sneered, barely bothering to treat the blow as a threat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Despoiler was running on fumes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>CLANG—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Huron's skull-etched, fire-wreathed war-axe caught the daemon-blade—but Abaddon twisted, the edge snaking for Blackheart's neck—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The pirate-king didn't even flinch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zzzzz—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A Necron Overlord's ash-grey staff spat a focused particle beam into Abaddon's spine, tearing a grotesque wound and warping his swing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You can't touch me.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Huron's retort came with a counter—the heavy axe hurled Abaddon back, a mocking smile on his lips.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Aaagh!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Too many wounds now.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Abaddon glared at Huron and struggled to his feet—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>WHAM—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An Ork Warboss clubbed him behind the skull; his vision burst into stars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then the Hive Tyrant's bio-blade raked his chest, carving deep. (Think boneswords—never pleasant.)\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Abaddon threw his arms wide; the twisted faces across his armor erupted outward, blasting soul-flame in a circle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The shockwave knocked his assailants sprawling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I need power—whatever the price…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He bared his teeth. \"Dark Gods—I'll bargain again!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He reached for the Ruinous Powers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And blinked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Dark Gods hung up on him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Investment fatigue: lately the powers had bled—hard—especially at Commorragh. They'd backed Abaddon for years and eaten loss after loss; this \"new Black Crusade\" had face-planted before it even set out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If the Chaos Gods were venture capitalists, they were down to their skivvies on this one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Keep burning offering, worship, and warp-charge on this champion? No.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Is this the power you meant?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Huron's voice rolled over him, proud and edged with a brutal, echoing warp-timbre.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Abaddon looked up—and despaired.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blackheart burned, red flames mounting, his frame swelling, new mutations warping through his bulk—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His pressure eclipsed the Despoiler's.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I… can't even match Huron…?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The chain of failures weighed too heavy; his resolve cracked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Plainly, the Dark Gods had shifted their stake—to the Red Corsairs' lord, Huron Blackheart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was the one they judged fit to rally the Traitor Astartes, to milk their potential—and to hurt the Imperium harder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Abaddon the Despoiler had been written off.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His death was a foregone conclusion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I told you—one Warmaster fell before; you'll follow him.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Power spiking, Huron moved for the kill. The axe and tearing claws shredded Abaddon's armor, gouging mortal wounds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With contempt, Blackheart wrenched away the Talon of Horus and flicked it aside. \"You… and Horus… are utter failures.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fit only for mockery.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He flung his arms wide as if to receive a coronation. \"A new Warmaster of Chaos rises—me—Huron Blackheart, Lord of the Red Corsairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Your pitiful record will be forgotten, and the galaxy will wail beneath my tread!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Abaddon sagged, spent—Huron planted a boot on his chest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He couldn't move.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Staring up at the pirate-king's heel, memory flashed—those heady days of the Black Crusades.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Especially the Thirteenth—so close.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Is this… where I end?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A glimmer of sorrow crossed Abaddon's eyes—and a hint of release.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tears needled at his lashes but flashed to steam. \"Horus… I failed your legacy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps it was always fate.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And just as he braced for death—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Engines roared.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pressure—vast, imperious—rolled across the dais.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on \"Zaelum\"]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Every 500 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Thanks for Reading!]\u003C\u002Fp>",2569,"2026-06-06T13:29:18.268Z",1,"novelbin.me","b9c8826d263eab63854c4560ce537365367b3d058f8be9fc2ae9bbe8af869d11","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-547","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-545",771,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fwarhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-cover.jpg"]