The Warp.
Chaotic light and shadow surged like tides. Waves of emotion churned ceaselessly within the boundless Immaterium, as unpredictable as everything that had played out across these long, endless ten thousand years after ten thousand years.
The apotheosis ritual of a newborn Warp deity, even if reduced to an incomplete failure, still whipped up towering tempests in this ocean of emotion.
Turbulent flows of wild psychic energy radiated in all directions from the center of the ritual, stirring the already restless Warp into an even more violent frenzy.
Meanwhile, the simultaneous gazes cast from the depths of the Immaterium by several Chaos Gods pushed the energy intensity of this region to yet another peak.
Naturally, everything has its limits.
As the God of Death fell from the steps of the divine throne, the attention of those Chaos Gods began to shift away, one by one, from a realm that was no longer entertaining.
Khorne was the first to leave.
A cold snort echoed from the direction of the Brass Throne, like tens of thousands of tons of brass crashing to the earth all at once.
On the surface, the Lord of Skulls appeared to have finally calmed down. Yet, no entity with even the slightest perception of the Warp would be deceived by such superficial quiet.
As if feeling the unventable rage in their master's heart, eighty-eight Khorne daemon legions stepped forth from the Warp's divine domain in unison, embarking on a march toward the Materium.
They needed more war and blood to allow their master to temporarily suppress that chest full of wild fury.
Then, Nurgle diverted his gaze as well.
Deep within that plague garden shrouded in green mist, the Grandfather slowly withdrew his eyes.
Not a single extra flicker of emotion could be seen on His decayed yet benevolent face. He lowered His head and resumed stirring the bubbling cauldron of pestilence before Him.
As the realm that had suffered the most severe damage during two consecutive invasions by a certain reality-warper, the Garden of Nurgle was the most battered among his brothers.
He had to seize every single moment to restore Himself so He could retain enough bargaining chips in the increasingly violent Great Game to come.
Thus, amidst the swirling currents of the Warp, only two Chaos Gods remained who were unwilling to shift their attention away for a long time.
Slaanesh was slipping into a wild rage.
His hand—if one could even call that twisted, constantly shifting appendage a hand—thrust frantically through the waves of the Warp.
Pink and purple energy surged like a boiling tide between His fingers, whipping up towering waves with every sweep.
That hand grasped fruitlessly at the void, as if clinging to the hope that a prey that had already escaped could somehow fall back into His palm.
Yet it was futile.
In the end, even the Ruinous Power behind the veil had no choice but to pull His hand back.
"AAAAAAAAHHH!"
An indescribable scream erupted violently from Slaanesh's Palace of Six Rings.
Bound within that sound were six thousand six hundred and sixty-six distinct meanings of pain and extreme desire.
Those Greater Daemons of Slaanesh who usually revelled in the Six-Ring Palace grew deathly silent, petrified like cicadas in winter.
No one wanted to attract their master's attention at a time like this.
Deep within the inner palace, an exceedingly hideous expression broke across the face of that perfect androgynous body.
Slaanesh had never imagined that a duck cooked to perfection could actually fly away!
Originally, that plan was so flawless.
He could have resolved a Sword of Damocles hanging over His head for ten thousand years, completely devoured the Eldar God of Death—a arch-enemy that threatened Him—and enjoyed a gluttonous feast of Eldar souls in the process.
Except, out of those three wonderful wishes, not a single one was fulfilled.
Not even one.
Dammit!
Slaanesh had hoped to turn the tables with this plan, teaching that so-called Indefinite Distortion—the latecomer destined to join this Great Game sooner or later—a thorough lesson.
Fulgrim, His most beloved favorite, was completely lost at his hands, leaving Slaanesh incomparably furious.
And now, a meticulously arranged grand scheme of revenge had thoroughly collapsed due to that same party's interference.
What was this supposed to be?
How could a player meant to sit high upon a Warp throne constantly flip the chessboard and jump onto the table to act as a piece?
Looking back now, Slaanesh realized that another favorite He had failed to recover in the past—the fallen Battle Sister, a champion under His command—had likely met a grim fate at this fellow's hands long ago.
"Tzeentch!"
Slaanesh's voice, carrying six thousand six hundred and sixty-six meanings of rage, crossed the infinite dimensions of the Warp and poured straight into the depths of that treacherous Crystal Labyrinth. "Your plan didn't work!"
Violent surges of psychic energy exploded once more in the Immaterium.
The Chaos God's interrogation smashed down like an invisible sledgehammer, causing countless prisms in the Crystal Labyrinth to vibrate simultaneously.
Infected by this rage, many Slaaneshi Greater Daemons who had been dead silent began itching to move.
They realized that perhaps right now, they could turn their master's anger into an opportunity for themselves.
As long as they could bring a smile to their sovereign's face, even charging into that damned labyrinth would make such a sacrifice entirely worthwhile.
Yet the Architect of Fate, that fellow covered entirely in blue feathers, remained unhurried as ever.
No—quite the contrary.
He was laughing.
"Hahaha, hehehehe—"
The laughter reflected off every prism face of the Crystal Labyrinth simultaneously, echoing through every corner of the maze in dense layers.
"Change! Yet another change even I failed to foresee!"
He shrieked with laughter, ninety-nine beak-shaped mouths simultaneously uttering ninety-nine distinct records of wild joy.
The web of change, the threads of fate, deception and counter-deception, cause-and-effect and paradoxes—all these concepts intertwined within those ninety-nine mouths, ultimately converging into praise.
It was truly magnificent to behold!
Every time "Indefinite Distortion" made a move, one could witness so many changes that were previously impossible to see!
Change—change is a good thing!
"Can you stop for a second?"
Slaanesh cold-cut into the laughter.
At this moment, His voice contained a singular meaning: pure anger. "Your plan failed, Tzeentch!"
The original plan of the Four Chaos Gods was actually very simple.
Considering the constant interference from a certain reality-warper, the more complex a plan was, the easier it was for unexpected flaws to appear during implementation.
As for an entity uncaptured by any prophecy, even the Architect of Fate Tzeentch Himself could not predict what antics he would pull next.
Without prediction, there could be no targeted counter strategy.
So the best approach was to streamline the plan itself.
This was the mighty power created by the united will of the Four Chaos Gods.
Each contributed the methods they excelled at most, thoroughly penetrating that holy relic—which should have been impossible to corrupt—from its very root.
Slaanesh took the initiative to hand over the Cronesword kept in the deepest part of the Palace of Six Rings. Ten thousand years ago, Shalaxi Hellbane, the chief Greater Daemon under His command, had personally stolen it from the Eldar, and it had laid quietly in the palace's most secret vault ever since.
Tzeentch wove a disguise illusion over the blade using endless lies, ensuring that even if the Eldar Farseers held the sword, they would never perceive anything amiss.
Khorne's blood soaked the blade, infusing it with the essence of war and tyranny.
Nurgle's pestilence seeped into every minute groove of the sword, over which Slaanesh's excessive bliss was layered, perfectly fusing all pollution into an indivisible whole.
So steeped, the Cronesword became a deadly trap.
The moment the God of Death was born, the malice joint-injected by the four gods would abruptly activate.
It would not cause the resurrection ritual to fail.
The Chaos Gods are immortal and exist forever. Likewise, it is difficult for them to kill an entity aligned with their own will.
So, quite the opposite.
This trap would allow the resurrection ritual of the God of Death to succeed.
Then, at the exact instant of success, the four gods would exert force together, shifting the target of the God of Death's attack directly away from Slaanesh. It would be like gently flicking the bowstring at the precise moment an arrow leaves it, deflecting its trajectory toward that cold, black sun in the Warp.
The shockwave generated by their clash would be ten, or even nine times more powerful than the birth of the God of Death alone.
That impact would easily shatter the Webway currently maintained by Terra, blasting it into fragments far finer than in any previous age.
Countless Warp daemons would seize this opportunity to launch a massive invasion of Terra.
The power of the Four Chaos Gods would publicly manifest on the surface of this planet for the first time, and the fires of war would burn across every inch of Terran soil.
Whether it was the Primarch or that unprophesiable reality-warper, they would have to concentrate every piece of power they could mobilize on Terra, stubbornly defending the homeworld bound to human civilization.
While the Imperium gasped for air while attending to one thing at the expense of another, reawakening Necron Tomb Worlds across the segmentums would turn human worlds into burning ruins one after another. Meanwhile, the main hive fleets of the Great Devourer would freely consume every unguarded Imperial world along the borders, reducing them to barren, silent husks.
When a flustered humanity finally attempted to put a stop to all this, that Indefinite Distortion would face an even more desperate dilemma.
The Golden Throne, upon which the Cursed One currently sat, would also suffer immense disruption once the Webway shattered.
Consequently, that divine apotheosis ritual currently stuck in a bugged state by the Emperor would likewise automatically restart.
Thus, that entity would face a situation where the close friend who once walked alongside him turned into the Dark King, dragging the entirety of human civilization down into the abyss together.
The Four Chaos Gods were immensely satisfied with this plan.
Especially Slaanesh.
In His original calculations, the birth of the God of Death would inevitably trigger massive deaths among the Eldar. The Eldar souls freed from spirit stones would pour into the Warp like a burst dam, left to be divided and devoured by the four gods.
Slaanesh, who had always been protective of Eldar souls to an extreme degree, made a rare compromise this time—even if He wasn't entirely satisfied with it.
However, Slaanesh was confident that by relying on the ten-thousand-year connection with the Eldar, He would ultimately get to consume the largest share.
Of course, all of this had now turned into flowers in a mirror and the moon in water.
The sudden interference of the Indefinite Distortion had directly nipped the grand plan in the bud right at its source.
Moreover, considering that the other party might not even know the full plan of the Four Chaos Gods, that absolute ignorance was itself the ultimate humiliation.
Slaanesh's rage was by no means baseless.
Yet, even with everything above having transpired, Tzeentch was still laughing; He hadn't stopped for a moment.
"Change, change is a good thing!" The Architect of Fate repeated His previous words once more.
Ninety-nine beak-shaped mouths opened and closed simultaneously, spouting ninety-nine distinct variations of joy, wild ecstasy, and anticipation.
These complex emotions radiated from the Crystal Labyrinth like a web of fate, tinting almost the entire Immaterium with a layer of sly blue.
"Of course, of course I have a way. That goes without saying, for I am Change itself—hahahaha!"
Tzeentch spoke disjointedly, His tone erratic and hyperactive, as though He already saw a certain change—one He would willingly pay any price to exchange for—slowly unfolding in the future.
A change crucial to change itself—what could satisfy the Architect of Fate more than a change He Himself had failed to foresee?
His avian eyes, spread across every prism face of the Crystal Labyrinth, widened at once. Their layered gazes pierced through the veil, fixing dead-on upon that planet.
Change.
As long as there is change!
Then, no matter how great the price, it would be worth it.
Including Tzeentch Himself.
At this moment, Tzeentch's desire for self-destruction burned brighter in His heart than at any other time.
This feeling was a hundred times more thrilling to Tzeentch than that moment He first saw the Well of Eternity years ago.
Back then He had held back, but this time He couldn't restrain Himself at all!
This sensation caused all ninety-nine of Tzeentch's beak-shaped mouths to split open in a dangerous grin simultaneously.
"Looking forward to it so very much."
Terra.
Completely unaware of everything that had occurred in the Warp, Adam directly retracted that mint-condition Cronesword, casually tossed it into some unknown pocket dimension, and clapped the non-existent dust off his hands.
Now, there was still one matter he needed to wrap up quickly.
Adam calmly raised his hand and gave a big wave.
The air tore open abruptly before him, and the outline of a gate radiating distorted energy emerged from the void.
On the other side of the gate lay the depths of the Webway, left in utter shambles after the failed apotheosis ritual of the God of Death moments ago.
Shattered wraithbone altars lay scattered everywhere. Those Eldar of the Ynnari who had just awakened from death stood on the spot staring at one another in a daze, their faces filled with confusion and perplexity.
Crossing a distance of countless light-years, the two spaces were connected directly on either side of this single door.
Over in the Webway, Yvraine, who had just pushed herself up off the ground, snapped her head up.
Who was it?
Then, she saw a human, along with another familiar face.
The Eldar Farseer Ulthran opened his mouth. His gaze swept back and forth across Yvraine's face several times, but in the end, he couldn't bring himself to say a word.
To be completely honest.
Ulthran wasn't quite as shocked now as he had been earlier.
By now, he was convinced that nothing in this world could shatter his world view anymore.
Could anything compare to the shock of having someone hand-craft a Cronesword right in front of him—something that blew Eldar minds for ten thousand years? Not a single thing!
Therefore, I have grown from the past!
So what if he opened a super portal and directly located the position of the Ynnari, which even I couldn't find right now?
What did that count for?
If you have the ability, bring Asuryan the Father of Gods, Lileath the Maiden, Kaela Mensha Khaine the War God, Morai-Heg the Goddess of Fate, Isha the Goddess of Life, and all the other Eldar gods back to life right in front of me, and open my eyes!
Unrealistic thoughts spun through Ulthran's mind, leaving him somewhat dazed at this moment.
Yvraine froze on the spot as well. She looked at Ulthran, then looked at the completely unfamiliar human standing ahead of him, her eyes stacked full of question marks.
WHAT?