Gods weren't the invincible beings mortals imagined them to be.
From an academic perspective, the term was simply a special designation for individuals with powers far beyond imagination. In essence, it was no different from the divisions of power into Black Iron, silver, and gold.
On the battlefield of the Warp, gods were merely pieces set into motion as the shadows of Chaos and their opposing enemies fought. They were placed in specific positions on the board that determined the future of all creation, to seize an advantage or strike at the enemy.
The newborn gods trapped in the Warp by the Frontier Pact could speak with authority on this matter.
Everyone said that becoming a god meant you could do whatever you wanted. That was obviously a lovely fantasy about power. In reality, even gods in this world had little freedom. Rather than dreaming of doing as they pleased, they'd be better off figuring out how to survive the next Warp War.
"Mortals have their troubles, and gods have theirs" wasn't some humblebrag. It described a cold reality so bleak that even gods wanted to cover their faces and weep.
The old gods, whether from the Order or Chaos faction, understood this well. Even the shadows of Chaos knew to hide when the time came; they would never stubbornly hold their ground and wait to die just to save face. But the brash newcomers who'd only just arrived on the scene didn't quite get it.
Or rather, they had no reasonable understanding of the power they possessed. They generally believed themselves invincible or omnipotent, unable to understand that the mighty forces of existence always had a way to punish a piece that didn't follow the rules of the game.
Take the Lord of the Hunt, who had been born