Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor

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The Dreamweaver slid out of the spaceport, gliding forward slowly.

In the ship's command bridge, Admiral Kaes stood before the control console, waiting in silent anticipation.

He awaited the signal from the navigation beacon.

Beep—

A light flickered on the star map, and the signal indicator turned green.

This meant the ship's communication receivers had captured the signal transmitted from afar.

An operator reported:

"Commander, the navigation beacon is active!"

A faint smile appeared on Kaes' face as he issued the command:

"Engage the engines. Prepare for warp travel!"

With the order given, the crew activated the warp drive.

In response, the space ahead of the Dreamweaver rippled faintly.

Within seconds, the ripples intensified. A vortex of purple-red energy intruded upon the material realm, swirling and expanding rapidly.

A massive, spinning warp portal materialized, crackling with purple lightning around its edges.

The passage was formed.

Inside the ship, warning signals blared.

Crew members and soldiers scrambled through the corridors, securing themselves indoors to brace for the initial turbulence of the warp jump.

By the observation windows, the eerie purple light of the warp portal cast an unnatural hue over Kaes' face, making him slightly uneasy.

Soon, metallic shutters descended over the windows, sealing them completely.

Across the ship, similar armor plates fell into place, sealing observation points and corridors.

With the ship now fully sealed, the Geller field generator activated, surrounding the Dreamweaver in a faint, bubble-like protective field.

The colossal vessel inched toward the circular warp portal.

As the ship's prow breached the portal's glowing center, space distorted under a burst of brilliant light.

In an instant, the Dreamweaver and the portal vanished, leaving behind only a slowly dissipating ripple.

...

Within the Warp

After a jarring initial shock, the Dreamweaver continued its journey through the turbulent currents of the Immaterium.

"Feels a bit like riding a boat," Eden remarked from the comfort of his luxurious stateroom.

Reclining on a plush sofa, he found the experience oddly novel.

This was his first time traveling through the warp while aboard a ship.

After a few moments of observation, Eden pulled down his sleep mask and allowed the gentle rocking to lull him into slumber.

He needed to rest, to conserve his energy for the battles and endless responsibilities that awaited him at the sector capital.

The days of relaxation were over.

...

Sector Capital, Martilla

In the royal palace, chaos reigned.

The chief seer, Mondi, writhed on the jeweled floor, screaming in agony.

His body had been severed in two, his blood pooling into a thick crimson trail.

Nearby, a Khorne Berserker stood silently, gripping a bloodied chainaxe, his face devoid of any emotion.

"Foolish charlatan. How dare you curse me?"

On the massive mechanical throne, the tyrant Harris roared.

His bloodshot eyes and grotesquely mutated body were nearly fully consumed by Chaos.

Mondi died without ever understanding why his lord had killed him.

For years, he had read the same prophecy:

"The tyrant of the Malio family will die upon the throne."

Struggling to lift his bloated hand, Harris pointed to another trembling seer.

"You. Continue the divination."

"Y-yes, my lord!" the terrified seer stammered.

Casting a glance at Mondi's corpse, the man swallowed hard before proceeding with the crystal scrying.

A few moments later, he looked up with a forced smile and declared:

"My lord, the prophecy is broken! None shall harm you. Your rule shall endure eternally!"

Harris' fury surged.

A mechanical arm shot out, seizing the seer and dragging him close.

"Deceitful worm! Who said no one could harm me? That damned Savior is coming to kill me!

Don't tell me you haven't heard the prophecy—everyone on this planet knows it!"

Terrified, the seer stammered, "My lord, I—"

Crunch!

The mechanical arm crushed him into pulp, his blood splattering across Harris' grotesque form, making him appear even more monstrous.

Discarding the lifeless body, Halris slumped back into his throne.

With a hiss, the mechanical systems injected him with a large dose of sedatives.

Calming slightly, he stared at the bodies on the floor, sinking into silence.

Another killing.

He was losing control more and more often, slaughtering nearly all his court officials.

While the palace was drenched in blood, the outside world grew eerily calm.

In recent days, there had been no signs of rebellion.

But this unnatural peace only deepened Halris' fear.

He knew the enemy was lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Though he couldn't pinpoint the rebels, their presence was palpable.

If everyone was a potential rebel, should he kill them all?

In the end, Halris resolved to await the prophesied Savior's arrival.

He would crush the Savior in the most brutal way possible, destroying any hope the people held.

...

Rebel Hideout

Within a modest home, Saint Fran finished his work and returned to the crowded dormitory.

For over a year, he and his followers had ceased guerrilla warfare, posing as laborers while spreading the Savior's prophecy:

"On the day of salvation, the Savior will descend, slay the tyrant, and free this suffering world."

The prophecy had spread across the entire planet.

Rebels now infiltrated all levels of society, including the tyrant's military.

In truth, anyone who knew the prophecy was a potential rebel.

Fran removed his filthy work clothes and donned his saintly robes. Retrieving the Sacred Codex of Redemption, he began to pray.

Brown, one of the rebel leaders, entered and asked eagerly, "Saint Fran, has the day of salvation arrived? Is the Savior coming?"

Fran nodded.

The psychic navigation beacon had been activated. The Savior would arrive soon.

Brown rushed out to spread the news.

The message passed discreetly—through a glance, a nod, a smile.

Those who believed understood immediately and began their quiet preparations.

The atmosphere across the streets turned eerie.

The repressive troops felt it too—a strange tension.

An officer grabbed a laborer who couldn't suppress a smile.

"Why are you grinning, scum?"

"R-reporting, sir… I wasn't smiling…"

The officer smashed the man's teeth with the butt of his rifle.

Pointing his weapon at the trembling workers, he bellowed:

"You think that Savior will come save you? He won't save anyone!"

The workers trembled as the officer ordered his men to aim their guns.

Then it happened.

A faint spatial distortion rippled through the air.

Everyone instinctively looked up, though the dark steel sky of the underhive concealed any view of the heavens.

The disturbance subsided. The officer sneered and prepared to fire.

But then, they heard it.

A resounding hymn filled the air, emanating from every sound emitter.

It praised the great and merciful Savior.

(End of Chapter)

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