As Blackrock led four ships through the Warp, they endured the Warp's chaotic passage of time before finally reaching their destination.
They had not entered the Warp from the Eye of Terror, but had entered directly from the Maelstrom and sailed across the Sea of Souls to the Black Crusade's gathering point.
Malem was a fortress world, one of the many worlds the Black Legion possessed within the Eye of Terror. It had formidable defensive firepower, planetary shields, and a large military garrison. Even setting aside its weapons and shields, landing on the surface would mean facing countless cannons and fortresses. Taking it would be a disaster.
Fortunately, Peter and his party had no need to do that. They had come to pay their respects to Abaddon and ask to be accepted into the Black Legion's order of battle for this expedition.
At that moment, the planet's Starport was a scene of bustling chaos. A gigantic Space Elevator stretched from the planet's surface into space, its tendrils like those of an iron behemoth, firmly gripping countless ships.
More ships drifted in orbit around the planet, like abandoned metal islands slowly turning in the Void as they waited for permission to dock. They might never get it; the Starport's berths had to be saved for the Black Legion's trusted allies and the Great War Bands. More than a thousand ships were anchored around the planet—a spectacle rarely seen.
Peter had ordered the Lord of Fleets to send a communications request while they were still some distance from the planet, confirming their identity to avoid being attacked. The Starport's staff soon assigned them an orbital berth, one that was small and out of the way. Fortunately, they didn't have many ships.
The Forged Steel Brethren War Band's fleet had only five ships:
The Shortsword-class Frigate Blackrock
An armed freighter
A Rogue-class Freighter
Two Tarrasque-class Merchant Ships
The last two Tarrasque-class Merchant Ships had been rented from Daedalus. If the Rogue-class Freighter could be called a sitting duck, then the Tarrasque-class Merchant Ships were all shell and no substance.
Once they entered orbit, a long wait began. While they waited, Peter didn't even dare shut down the Gellar Field generator. Space Marines were fairly resistant to the erosion of Warp energy, but the same couldn't necessarily be said of ordinary humans.
After several days of waiting, Izekarion Izekarion of the Black Legion, "Valicar Hane," agreed to receive them. The "Izekarion" were a group of powerful figures within the Black Legion, senior advisors to Abaddon and his closest brothers. They had permission to address the Warmaster by name.
This was hardly surprising. They were only a small War Band of half a company, hardly important enough for the Great Reaver to receive them in person.
As a Storm Eagle Gunship flew into the Starport's landing bay, Peter stepped down from it. He was still wearing his Iron-pattern Power Armour, which had been polished until its normally silver-gray plates gleamed. His helmet hung at his waist, and a Plasma Pistol and Power Axe were holstered on either side of his thighs. Voidsmith Filon and his bodyguard Anthony walked beside him.
Their clean armour looked out of place in their surroundings. The Starport's floors were coated in black paint, worn away in places to reveal the bare metal beneath. Blasphemous symbols and summoning circles covered the walls. Inside the hangar, human slaves scurried around performing maintenance. In one corner, they could even see more than a dozen Hell Drakes breathing fire, bound by chains and mysterious Psychic Power rituals.
A reasonably presentable male cultist hurried over and bowed to the three of them.
"Lord Peter, please follow me."
Peter and the others simply nodded and followed him.
Peter noticed Autocannon turrets everywhere along the way. Some of the Starport's machinery had even been merged with daemons, becoming daemon engines.
As they walked through the Starport, the three of them saw plenty of other Space Marines. Some had their Power Armour fused with twisted flesh, making it hard to tell whether they could ever remove it. Others had hideous faces and had lost every trace of their human appearance.
Some wore bloated, cracked Power Armour, with flies the size of human fists buzzing around them. They stood in a circle, chatting and laughing as they drank suspicious-looking liquid from cups. A fat maggot crawled over the rim of one of the cups.
As they passed, Filon couldn't help complaining to his boss:
"Fucking stinks! Look, that guy's guts are hanging out, and the crotch plate on his armour's cracked too. Is this what they mean by 'exhibitionism'?"
Peter replied helplessly:
"I know you like reading those Old Terra texts, but learn to filter them. Read something normal."
Soon, the slave led them to the important man's door. The two Black Legion Space Marines standing guard gestured for them to leave their weapons behind. The three had no choice but to comply.
Then they entered the important man's room. As the heavy door closed behind them, Peter saw an inner courtyard. A figure sat high on a throne, forcing visitors to look up at him.
The throne was made of countless mechanical parts and the wreckage of war, a symbol of the victories and glory he had won for the Black Legion in countless battles.
The man seated upon it was a Space Marine, also clad in a complete suit of Iron-pattern Power Armour. It was the most widely issued armour among the Iron Warriors and had nearly become the Fourth Legion's signature pattern.
His armour was no longer the Iron Warriors' dark metallic hue with black-and-yellow stripes, nor was it the silver-gray bare metal revealed when Peter and his men cleaned their armour. His plates were black and gold, the colours of the Black Legion.
Valicar wore no helmet, leaving his face completely exposed. His expression was resolute and cold. His gaze was sharp, as if it could pierce an enemy's soul, and his face was etched with the marks of age and battle—proof of his bravery and resilience through countless fights. His skin had grown rough and dark from long years of combat and exposure to harsh conditions.
Valicar sat in a relaxed, confident posture. One hand rested on the throne's arm, while the other might have been holding a massive Thunder Hammer. His bearing conveyed unshakable authority; even at rest, he made it impossible to underestimate his strength and resolve.
Valicar Hane, former Battalion Commander of the Iron Warriors and current Grand Admiral of the Fleet of the Black Legion, spoke with a commanding air:
"Adjutant Peter, I'm glad to see that the Chaos Power hasn't corrupted and twisted you."
There wasn't the slightest hint of happiness in his voice.
Peter looked up at his former commander.
"Long time no see, Battalion Commander Valicar."
Valicar Hane continued to gaze at his former subordinate, the adjutant of a small company, and said:
"If Company Commander Crassus were still alive, he'd be glad to see the man you've become."
Peter clenched his fists, his anger with nowhere to go. After all, the commander had nothing to do with what had happened, so he decided to get straight to the point:
"We've come to join the Black Crusade. Where's the equipment you promised us?"
Valicar Hane shifted in his seat, propping his chin on one hand as he looked at Peter.
"Peter, do you know how many War Bands have come here lately, claiming they want to join the Black Crusade? Most of them are nothing but a pack of lying cowards, a bunch of hesitant strays who can't decide whether to fight or flee."
Valicar lightly tapped the arm of his throne and continued:
"That's why none of them were allowed to see me. But you're different, Peter. You served under me for a long time. I know you have the ability, and that you're willing to take risks."
At last, Valicar's expression turned teasing.
"More importantly, I know that outside the battlefield, you would never lie. That's why I summoned you and started this conversation. I believe it'll be quite interesting."
Before you continue