The Warp.
Chaotic light and shadow surged like tides. Waves of emotion churned endlessly through the boundless Empyrean, as fickle as everything that had unfolded over those long millennia.
The ascension ritual of a newborn Warp god, even an incomplete failure, had still raised towering waves in this ocean of emotion.
Violent psychic currents radiated outward from the ritual's center, stirring the never-peaceful Warp into an even fiercer torrent.
The gazes cast simultaneously by the Chaos Gods deep within the Empyrean pushed the intensity of the region's energies to another peak.
Of course, everything had its limits.
As the Death God fell from the steps of his divine throne, the Chaos Gods began withdrawing their attention, one by one, from this space that no longer interested them.
Khorne was the first to leave.
A cold snort came from the direction of the Brass Throne, like ten thousand tons of brass striking the earth at once.
On the surface, the Skull Lord seemed to have finally calmed down, but no being with even the slightest awareness of the Warp would be fooled by that apparent calm.
As though sensing the anger in their master's breast that had nowhere to go, eighty-eight Daemon Armies of Khorne marched in perfect unison from his divine domain in the Warp, setting out for realspace.
They needed more war and blood to allow their master to temporarily suppress his seething fury.
Then Nurgle, too, turned his gaze away.
Deep within the Plague Garden, wreathed in green mist, the Grandfather slowly withdrew his gaze.
No further emotion showed on his decaying yet kindly face. He lowered his head and continued stirring the bubbling Plague Cauldron before him.
Of all his brothers' divine domains, Nurgle's Garden had suffered the worst damage during a certain reality warper's two successive