Beyond the veil, within the Crystal Labyrinth of the Empyrean, countless Threads of Fate converged before Fateweaver Tzeentch.
"Nimrod... Blackstone Fortress... Abaddon... change..."
His voice was deep and somber, while the face growing from the right side of his chest repeated in a flat monotone, "Nimrod... Blackstone Fortress... Abaddon... change..."
"No... Argos's plan must be completed. It is vital..."
The face on the right side of his chest suddenly vanished, and a face growing from his left leg spoke in a tone of resolve. "No... Argos's plan must be completed. It is vital..."
Colored light shimmered brilliantly in Tzeentch's eyes as he watched Atiri, chieftain of the Agoru tribe, who had sent Magnus and Nimrod out of the valley mouth and returned to the Black Basalt altar.
He raised both arms, sketching out intricate threads before him.
"Everything is under control."
The face growing from his left shoulder let out an eerie, shrill laugh. "Everything is under control."
The voice gradually lowered, almost to a whisper.
Deep within Argos's thirty-thousand-meter-high mountains, at the Black Basalt altar.
Atiri's eyelids gradually grew heavy. He found a flat rock among the cliffs and lay down on his side.
Once the mask was donned, it would never be removed for life, not even in sleep, or even during procreation.
Atiri cradled his javelin and slowly fell asleep under the glow of Evening.
In his daze, he saw the beautiful deity he served.
"Nimrod's arrival has broken the balance. Daisai is restless and will soon break through the blockade."
"You must perform a sacrifice to save your world."
"I understand..." Atiri hugged his javelin tightly.
"I will obey Your oracle!"
Atiri snapped awake from the dream. He quickly climbed up from the rock and looked toward the elders around him.
Through the gazes shining from