The Gods' Strife

Nurgle, the Chaos God known as the "Grandfather," roared with laughter in his meticulously tended garden, for his arch-rival had suffered a blow to his essence.

Countless flies and maggots shook loose from his rotting, diseased body, falling into the cauldron before him, where they churned amidst a brew of infinite disease and agony.

"Perhaps this is a rare moment of joy in the endless void?"

A seductive, androgynous voice whispered in the ear like the soft murmurs of a lover, stirring an indescribable longing deep within the listener's heart.

Accompanied by pink mist and a pervasive fragrance, the Dark Prince, Slaanesh, the Lord of Pleasure, arrived.

The wills of Khorne, Nurgle, and Slaanesh gathered in the realm of Tzeentch, mocking the momentary weakness of the Changer of Ways.

As the wills of the gods converged once more, the Lords of Change gripped their staves tightly until the wood creaked. The last time the gods arrived, their master had snapped his crystal staff; what would happen this time?

The Lord of Change sat motionless as an abyss, hovering in the void, his gaze sweeping over the soul in his hand—another scheme woven into existence.

He spoke slowly, his voice raspy and mysterious: "A soul erupted from the Well of Eternity, and it has wounded my form."

The gods' gazes were drawn to the translucent red soul in Tzeentch's hand, temporarily ceasing their mockery of his frailty, their expressions turning grave.

Though the power of the four gods ebbed and flowed with the great events of the material universe, their overall strength remained evenly matched. A soul capable of wounding the Chaos God Tzeentch could naturally wound them as well; it was worthy of their attention.

"Lies! Another trap," Nurgle said with disdain, believing Tzeentch had merely spun another snare to toy with the gods for his own amusement.

"Hand it over." Khorne sensed the infinite rage within the soul, which resonated perfectly with his own domain.

The deep crimson blood clouds outside Tzeentch's realm grew thicker, gathering divine power in preparation to seize it by force.

Slaanesh remained silent, his will watching the pure, unblemished soul with keen interest.

His true form, deep within his own divine realm, extended a long tongue to lick his lips, eager to taste a soul that appeared so delicious.

The Lord of Change remained outwardly calm, though he nearly laughed aloud at the display of the Warp gods. His withered arm trembled, casting the soul into the unpredictable currents of the Warp as he said, "It is yours."

The Warp churned. As the soul flew out of Tzeentch's realm, it immediately drew the three Chaos Gods to vie for it.

Their wills transformed into tentacles and nets, churning the turbulent waves of the sea of souls as they lunged toward that faint red light.

Perhaps by the deliberate design of the Lord of Change, the three gods' wills made contact with the mysterious soul from the unknown land at the exact same moment.

"Tzeentch! Do you wish to ignite a war once more?" Beneath Khorne's furious roar lay the agony of restraint.

The moment he touched the soul, his will felt as if it were being scorched by fire. The God of War angrily interrogated the God of Conspiracy.

Slaanesh and Nurgle fared no better; the former wallowed in the pain, emitting a pleasurable moan, while the latter let out a muffled grunt, forcibly enduring the agony that radiated from the depths of the soul.

The Lord of Change felt a secret thrill, his tongue sharp as he spoke, his myriad mouths murmuring in unison: "My words were sincere; it is you who did not trust me. You have brought this upon yourselves, so do not blame me."

"My God!"

The Lords of Change cheered excitedly. The God of Conspiracy had played the gods like puppets without even needing to resort to a scheme.

Since all four gods had suffered damage, it was as if none had; they were back on equal footing, and none had the right to mock the others.

The games between the gods had always been this way; any slight loss of face was worth spending endless time to settle.

"Hmph." Having suffered a hidden loss, Khorne plotted how to attack Tzeentch's realm next time, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

The pure soul of unknown origin had grown larger after absorbing the Warp energy carried by the three gods' wills.

The gods' gazes could peer into its soul, yet they could not see through its essence.

The soul seemed to have completed a form of evolution, slowly beginning to absorb the free-floating power of the Warp, yet its essence remained unstained, glowing with a pure, flawless red light.

The Lord of Change wiped away his smile. The gods' gazes refocused on the soul, each one waiting for an opportunity, eager to strike.

It absorbed the energy of the sea of souls without paying any price, and it had not been tainted by the power of the Warp.

The essence of this soul was extraordinary. If its secrets could be unlocked or if it could be devoured, the rewards would be immense.

The gods stood in a stalemate. To strike and seize it meant guarding against the others; a chain of suspicion formed once more among the deities, and any rash move would invite a collective assault.

"It now possesses the strength of a lesser daemon."

Nurgle's voice buzzed, reminding the gods that they must act quickly, for this could not continue.

The red soul could absorb energy, and none knew where its limits lay.

The longer they waited, the more disadvantageous it became. If it had no limits and continued to absorb energy, the Warp might well give birth to a "new god."

"Place it in my realm; I shall savor that agony and study it at my leisure."

Slaanesh's voice was cloying and seductive, as if he had not yet recovered from the previous pleasure. His true form lay on the soft bed of his palace, limp and powerless, overwhelmed by a pleasure too intense to describe.

"Begone!" Khorne was blunt, rejecting his arch-rival's proposal.

That indulgent whore would surely desecrate the essence of the soul.

Khorne and Slaanesh were natural enemies.

One was a warrior of strict self-discipline, the other a whore of boundless indulgence.

The dream of Khorne, the Blood God, was to seize Slaanesh by the throat, strangle his god-brother of infinite indulgence with his own hands, and completely erase the root of such depravity.

Khorne hesitated, pondering whether he could offer a price that would tempt the other gods. He was determined to have the red soul; the infinite rage contained within it was far too suited to his tastes.

"I have a proposal." The mouths covering the Lord of Change, which had been incessantly whispering secrets, shifted into eyes that saw through all things, and his voice echoed from nowhere: "I have a proposal."

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

"Speak your lies."

The last one was highly discordant among the Chaos Gods, mocking Tzeentch at every turn.

The Changer of Ways cast a glance toward Nurgle's domain, filled with disdain and contempt, yet he did not take it to heart.

"Since we have no way to unravel its essence for now, why not let it develop? We shall place it at the intersection of the four divine domains and observe. Whatever changes occur, we will be the first to know."

"I agree." After some deliberation, Khorne was the first to nod. For the moment, it was indeed a viable plan that did not favor any one side.

"I agree as well." Nurgle also accepted the proposal; he enjoyed a stalemate, but not a meaningless one.

"Let me be the one to deliver it to the intersection of our realms." Slaanesh was impatient, eager to touch the red soul and experience that extraordinary, agonizing pleasure once more.

"Begone!" Khorne roared. He had already marked the soul as his own and would never let this bitch defile it.

He decisively whipped up a Warp storm, using the tides of the Warp to transport the soul to the intersection of the four gods' domains without making direct contact.

Having done this, Khorne's will was the first to depart, heading to the edge of the realm to observe the soul he favored.

Once finished, the gods departed one by one, and the Warp fell into a brief silence.

Among the gods, strife never ceases; new conspiracies and wars are buried beneath the surface of the calm.

As for Du Mu, he was currently devoid of thought, knowing nothing of what transpired outside.

Unaware that he had been targeted by the four gods, his soul—fused with the essence of the Doom Slayer—drifted at the edge of the four divine domains, guarded jointly by Greater Daemons and demonic legions dispatched by the gods.

The Warp had fallen into a delicate balance due to his arrival, with the four gods suspicious and wary of one another, constantly reinforcing their borders to ensure they would not be caught at a disadvantage the moment conflict erupted.

And the culprit behind all of this continued to absorb Warp energy, growing ever stronger.

Du Mu and the system did not know that, due to the indeterminate nature of time in the Warp, they had not arrived in 40K.