Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 300 - 301: The Ultimate Humiliation from the Devourer

Under the gaze of the daemon hordes and countless Chaos entities, Be'lakor—the Dark Master—enjoyed his moment of glory.

He listened intently.

The rumble of exploding voidships was music to his ears.

"Feast your eyes..."

Be'lakor immersed himself in the spectacle, roaring, "Admire the fireworks festival your Dark Master has prepared for you!"

Finally...

After lying dormant for tens of thousands of years, the galaxy once again bore witness to the might of the Chosen of the Four—Be'lakor, the Dark Master!

The destruction of the Devourer's fleet was just the appetizer.

Next, he would tear open the Rift, unleashing the daemonic tide.

Be'lakor would lead his infernal legions in a declaration of war against mankind, and strike directly at the heart of the Imperium, achieving a victory so glorious even the Warmaster of Chaos would be driven mad with envy!

In this moment, Be'lakor felt he had reached the peak of his infernal existence.

He was the king of the galaxy!

Even Abaddon the Despoiler would look up in envy at the glory he was about to claim and grovel at his feet!

Be'lakor's blazing blue daemon-eyes snapped open, unleashing a psychic howl that shook the soul. Waves of warp energy surged like a storm, black mist rolling and boiling across the skies.

With the posture of a conqueror and commander, he looked upon the daemon horde, exuding an aura of absolute authority: "Yet this... is only the beginning! You shall follow the great Dark Ma—"

But halfway through his speech...

The mood turned strange. The excited cheers and roars of the daemon horde suddenly went silent.

Awkward silence took hold of the battlefield.

Even Be'lakor's raised claw paused mid-gesture. His booming voice grew small and uncertain, "—Master's... lead..."

What was going on?

He was frozen, unable to finish his rousing battle cry.

The daemons were staring at the sky... as if they had seen something unbelievable... then they all looked back at him.

The sudden hush and the intense gazes made Be'lakor uneasy. He felt... humiliated.

His gaze grew cold as he glared at the daemons. "Do you defy your Dark Master? Defy one chosen by all four gods?!"

Yet the greater daemons did not tremble. Their eyes turned mocking, no longer filled with reverence.

The daemons of Tzeentch were especially entertained, looking on like spectators at a theater, nearly snacking on warp-popcorn.

One of the Tzeentchian daemons, ever eager for chaos, burst into laughter:

"Dark Master! Your ship blew up!"

The words rang out, loud and clear in the silence.

...???

Be'lakor's face went blank. He spun around and looked up into space.

What he saw made him cry out:

"No... Impossible!"

...

In orbit—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The Devourer's fleet, like a star-swallowing tide, had surrounded his Chaos armada. Lances of multicolored light pierced the void, turning the dark expanse into a sea of fire.

"How can the Devourer have so many ships?!"

Be'lakor's pupils shrank. Disbelief spread across his face. But no one could answer his question.

The truth was plain to see.

The situation in orbit had collapsed, and Be'lakor's panic was visible to all.

He could only watch as his once-mighty Chaos fleet—heralded with pride and fanfare—was methodically annihilated.

One ship after another burst apart in searing explosions.

The beautiful blasts he once reveled in... were now devastating his own forces.

Each thunderous detonation pounded like a warhammer against his heart.

The explosions seemed to mock him, echoing his failure and helplessness across the void.

It was soul-crushing.

Worse yet, he had invited this audience.

Dozens of greater daemons had gathered at the Warp's edge to witness the battle, and even more were observing from afar.

Which meant countless allies and enemies alike were watching—witnessing his disgrace.

Be'lakor's head spun.

His voice trembled as he shouted, "No... I will not fail!"

He tried to recover. He quickly opened communications with his Chaos command ship, desperately seeking a way to salvage the situation.

Even in defeat—he couldn't afford to fall like this.

Once the channel opened, his voice crackled with rage: "Counterattack immediately! I order you to mount a counteroffensive! Use any means necessary—DESTROY the Devourer's fleet!

I command you—!"

But the Chaos commander on the other end exploded with fury.

"You idiot! You walked us into a trap! The enemy fleet is elite, with over three times our firepower! How do you expect us to fight back?!"

Be'lakor's fury ignited: "Incompetents! Cowards! If you still possess any honor as warriors of Chaos, then DIE GLORIOUSLY with the Devourer's fleet!"

"Dark Master, F*** YOU!"

The Chaos commander lost it.

If they had entered battle under normal conditions, they might have inflicted damage—even underpowered, they could have withdrawn.

But this arrogant plan of Be'lakor's had led them straight into a killbox.

Now, surrounded on all sides by enemy fire, there was no escape!

And now this bastard dared to order them to charge in and die to cover his own incompetence?

The Chaos commander snapped completely:

"Be'lakor, you're a pathetic piece of daemon filth! You're so dumb even an Ork would laugh at you! Your brain is a cosmic trash bin! The Devourer will rip your head off and shove it up your—"

It was an all-out insult assault.

Vulgarities poured forth like warp fire, echoing through the throne room of daemons.

ROAR!!!

Before the masses of Chaos, Be'lakor trembled with rage: "Silence! SILENCE! I will flay your soul for eternity!"

But on the battlefield of insults, the Chaos commander utterly dominated.

Be'lakor had already made up his mind.

That traitorous wretch would suffer infinite torment!

But before he could act—

BOOM—

The commander's ship bridge was hit by a plasma lance. His body was vaporized in scorching light.

But before his ashes scattered...

He still managed to raise a middle finger toward Be'lakor.

...

A deeper silence fell upon the throne chamber.

The awkwardness was suffocating.

Be'lakor could feel the daemons' mocking stares.

His majesty was gone.

More accurately—he had suffered social death on the grandest scale.

Even if the daemons descended, they would never again follow him. The fact that they hadn't openly mocked him already was the only grace left.

Be'lakor stood frozen, unsure what to do.

For a moment... he wanted to run.

Then—

A new voice rang out across the atmosphere.

"Ahem. Hey hey hey—"

It was the Devourer.

The Dreamweaver's wideband transmission broadcasted his voice across the planet.

Be'lakor snapped his head upward.

In his vision—

Endless ships, like beasts of steel, descended upon the world, blotting out the stars.

They were surrounded.

"Dark Master, I'm sorry to inform you: your fleet is gone.

Thanks for conveniently grouping them together. Made it easier for us to wipe them out..."

The Devourer paused—then chuckled: "Oh, wait—you didn't pop the champagne early, did you? Clown. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

The transmission burst with laughter.

Clown... clown... clown...

The word echoed over and over through the skies like a dagger, slicing into Be'lakor's pride.

...

On the Warp's edge—

Some daemons were holding their bellies, pointing at him and laughing without restraint.

They had long loathed his arrogance.

"No..."

Be'lakor trembled, eyes shut tight in agony.

His face twisted into the very image of suffering.

Yes.

He had become the clown.

After today...

Half the galaxy and the Warp would know this story—and mock him without end.

It was the most humiliating moment of his existence. He couldn't even bear to meet their eyes.

A fate worse than death!

"Devourer..."

Be'lakor gritted his teeth, hatred boiling in his heart. He wanted to tear him apart.

But he forced himself to stop, trembling as he sat back on his throne.

He fought to control his emotions.

"The war has only begun. I have not lost!"

A single failure meant nothing.

He still believed he could win.

The Devourer may wield terrible weapons—but Be'lakor had found a way to resist them.

According to intel, the Devourer himself wasn't particularly powerful. If he could neutralize that weapon, he had a real shot at killing him.

If he could just destroy the Devourer...

He could reclaim his honor and command the fear of the Warp once more.

Be'lakor calmed himself and began preparing defenses.

Though his fleet was gone, the planet's surface still housed powerful forces—dozens of Chaos Titans, over a thousand Chaos Knights!

He knew the final battle would come soon.

As long as he could tear the Rift open—he would win.

The Devourer's army would drown in the infernal tide.

...

Aboard the Dreamweaver – Savior's Sanctum, Armory

Eden watched the monitors. There hadn't been any strange activity on Corevax.

"Huh... he's really holding back?"

He had hoped Be'lakor would rage-quit or come charging out after the taunt.

That would've made things easier.

But Be'lakor stayed put, controlled himself.

That meant he still had cards left.

Which made things dangerous.

Still—the enemy's lair was right in front of them. Eden had no intention of turning back now.

They would press on until Corevax was destroyed.

In orbit—

The Savior's fleet advanced slowly, a pack of wolves closing in on the defenseless world.

With no fleet or orbital arrays left, Corevax was ripe for annihilation.

Just one order...

And the entire planet would be glassed.

However, under orders from Eden and Admiral Kaes, the fleet acted cautiously.

No indiscriminate bombardment.

Instead, one ship was sent to test fire.

Lance beams of light shot down...

But before reaching the surface, they were swallowed by a warped veil surrounding the planet.

Gone—vanished into the Warp.

Just as expected.

This planet existed on the edge between realspace and the Warp. Dangerous.

The attacks escalated.

But as more firepower struck the veil, Warp energy surged—nearly pulling a ship into a Warp vortex.

Thankfully, the fleet halted in time.

Kaes wiped the sweat from his brow: "Good thing the Savior warned us..."

If they'd done a full bombardment...

The resulting Warp storm could have consumed the entire fleet.

And they would've lost their only chance to stop the daemonic invasion.

"Savior, we can't keep attacking," reported Tako, looking up at Eden. "Too much firepower will not only create Warp storms—it will also accelerate the Rift's opening. It's almost fully torn already."

"Then prepare for ground assault..."

Eden sighed. "We hit Corevax's central fortress. Before the Rift opens—we destroy the machine generating it!"

Intel confirmed the Rift was being created by a massive device underground—powered by Blackstone tech.

And Eden's forces had some experience with Blackstone...

Though it was rare and hard to harvest.

That machine's core looked very tempting.

If they could retrieve some pieces, they might craft terrifying new weapons.

Tak passed on the orders.

CLANK—

The last piece of power armor locked into place.

A towering black-armored warrior, over five meters tall, stood ready.

After years away... Eden would return to the battlefield.

He wasn't surprised. This was tradition.

He stepped down from the armoring platform, stretching—his armor tight with power.

He approached the weapons wall.

He passed by ordinary gear, heading straight for a different wall—

Where rows of holy cremation shells were stored.

At the center stood a massive, ten-meter-high, three-meter-diameter bomb—the "Tsar."

A sacred cremation warhead.

His ace in the hole.

Eden stared at them, a little regretful.

If he had a few more centuries, he could've built a whole arsenal.

Could've tossed them like hand grenades.

A good fix for his ancestral firepower anxiety.

But this war wouldn't be easy.

If the Rift opened, the daemonic legions—dozens of greater daemons—would descend.

These sacred bombs might not be enough.

And the enemy could still receive reinforcements.

In that case...

His fleet, his ground forces—his domain—would all be in peril.

If Chaos found his core worlds...

Without proper defenses, everything but the innermost sanctuaries would fall.

If xenos showed up too?

Even worse.

The sacred towers were useless against xenos.

They might have to flee.

So—no matter what—he had to shut the Rift before the daemons arrived!

"Let's hope this goes smoothly..."

Even with all this firepower, Eden was nervous.

Fighting Be'lakor was risky.

The guy might be a moron tactically—but he was personally terrifying. He once beat Vashtorr into the floor.

Still, Eden couldn't back down.

He was the strongest in his domain.

No one else could face Be'lakor.

Luckily, this was realspace—Be'lakor's power was weakened.

And with his sacred bombs, as long as nothing went wrong... Eden was confident.

He reached for the weapons.

One by one, he armed himself with sacred cremation shells.

Now...

Both Chaos and the Savior's forces stood ready.

A war was about to erupt...

(End of Chapter)

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