Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor

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Eden had spent several months in Matira in his form of tethered consciousness.

By now, he had gained a comprehensive understanding of the planet's dire state.

As the sector capital, Matira was under the iron-fisted rule of the sector governor, Tyrant Harries.

The people here endured unimaginable suffering—nobles included.

No one was safe.

The tyrant's reign of terror could descend upon anyone without warning.

Harries' methods had grown increasingly brutal. With the planet squeezed to its limits, more and more uprisings arose in defiance, only to be met with even harsher suppression.

Even with clandestine support from certain nobles, the resistance lacked the strength to challenge the tyrant.

Many believed Harries had gone mad and that the planet would eventually collapse under his rule.

A prophecy, foretelling that Harries would die upon his throne, circulated widely across the planet.

While everyone wished for his demise, no one had the power to make it happen.

Resistance remained limited to a few brave individuals, while the majority were paralyzed by fear.

Their spirits had long been broken by Harries' oppressive reign, robbing them of the courage to fight back.

Eden understood this.

Without external intervention, the people of Matira stood no chance against a tyrant empowered by the Chaos God Khorne.

He decided to offer them hope—a beacon to liberate them from fear.

Fran's role became crucial.

As a missionary saint who had received the Savior's blessing and defeated the tyrant's formidable berserkers, Fran could serve as a symbol of defiance.

The story of Fran's victory needed to spread.

People needed to understand that the tyrant was not invincible, and that even Khorne's warriors could be defeated.

The Savior and His saints could triumph over the tyrant and his berserkers.

This hope, Eden believed, would unite the people and inspire them to rise up.

Upon returning to Urth, Eden compiled the intelligence he had gathered and sent it to the Ministries of Interior, War, and the Ecclesiarchy.

Together, they drafted an infiltration plan targeting all levels of Matira's society.

Once finalized, Eden distributed the plan to nearly 800 saints stationed on Matira.

Their mission was to infiltrate every stratum of society, gather intelligence on the planet's defenses, and spread the story of the Savior and Saint Fran.

They were also tasked with uniting all potential allies under a new prophecy:

"In eight years, the Savior will descend upon this world, slaying the tyrant on his throne and saving all."

Additionally, Eden issued a secondary directive:

The resistance must exercise restraint, avoid unnecessary losses, and conserve their strength.

Those brave enough to defy the tyrant would have to bide their time until the Savior's arrival to launch a coordinated uprising.

Quietly, the saints began embedding themselves within Matira's society.

Their presence went unnoticed.

Beneath the royal court of Matira, a far more sinister storm was brewing in a secret laboratory.

Thousands of experimental candidates were gathered in a vast arena within the lab.

Clad in rags and armed only with rusty iron rods, these individuals were forced into a deadly competition.

The rules were simple: fight and kill until only 100 remained by the time the massive mechanical timer overhead counted down.

Failure to comply would result in collective execution.

Driven by desperation, the candidates attacked one another with brutal ferocity.

The sound of breaking bones and splattering blood echoed throughout the arena.

Clang!

"Please, spare me!"

A frail man trembled, dropping his rod and begging for mercy.

He was immediately struck down, his skull crushed by another desperate participant.

In this arena, weakness meant death.

The contestants' primal instincts took over, and mercy became a forgotten concept.

Only those who survived would undergo the grueling Chaos-infused augmentation surgeries.

Above the arena, a black-robed Tech-Priest observed the carnage with sadistic satisfaction.

The screams and roars of the candidates seemed like music to his ears.

He commended his assistant:

"These candidates are exceptional. Use this as the standard for future selections."

"High Priest…"

"Yes?"

The assistant hesitated, but the Tech-Priest's menacing glare silenced him.

Swallowing his words, the assistant nodded in agreement.

After the Tech-Priest departed, the assistant broke into a cold sweat.

The new standard posed a daunting challenge—finding candidates of this caliber would be nearly impossible.

Failing to meet the standard would undoubtedly result in his execution.

His expression darkened as he devised a plan.

Reaching out to the planetary defense forces, he fabricated a new directive from the High Priest.

The defense forces were now required to supply batches of elite soldiers to the laboratory for the Blood Berserker Program.

Any delay or resistance would result in public execution.

Terrified, the defense force commander agreed without question.

Defying the supposed will of the tyrant was unthinkable—hesitation alone could lead to death.

The Tech-Priest descended via an elevator into a hidden subterranean chamber.

Before him lay a massive pool of blood, at the far end of which stood an imposing altar constructed entirely of skulls.

Corpses from the arena above were fed into the blood pool by machinery, their remains fueling the gruesome rituals below.

The Tech-Priest gazed at the altar with fanatic devotion.

This was his true masterpiece.

Once sufficient slaughter energy was gathered, the altar would activate, summoning one of Khorne's most powerful demons.

This planet would be cleansed in blood and fire.

Walking along a pathway made of bones, the Tech-Priest knelt before the towering skull altar and began his prayer.

He recited the ancient and forbidden names of a terrifying demon from a heretical tome.

In Khorne's Realm

Amid a wasteland of molten rock and rivers of blood, a colossal brass fortress stood defiantly.

This was the heart of Khorne's dark dominion.

The fortress walls glistened with fresh blood, while jagged spires pierced the dark clouds spewing from infernal forges.

Flames burned in iron cauldrons beneath gruesome hooks, illuminating the desolate plains.

Within one of the fortress's palaces, the air was thick with the anguished wails of demons.

A monstrous figure tore a screaming demon apart, its scalding blood splattering across the room.

The other demonic warriors lowered their heads, too terrified to react.

Their master, Ka'Bandha, the Supreme Bloodthirster and Bane of Angels, was in a rage once more…

(End of Chapter)

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