After hearing this, Tzeentch reluctantly withdrew his hand, then hurried with Nurgle toward Khorne's domain.
Along the way, Tzeentch spotted the territory of Gork and Mork. He pricked up his ears and listened, hearing only Mork's sighs of boredom and gloom.
Mork was sitting before a large table covered in war machines he had made. To give those machines some practical use, Mork had even laid out a rather grand defensive position across the tabletop.
Two armies faced each other. One side consisted of red-painted Orks, the other purple-painted Orks. Mork grabbed a red Gak-Bang Bomber and lightly rubbed a finger against its belly, making its engine rumble to life.
However, Mork did not release the bomber from between his fingers. Instead, he held it like a child playing with a toy, swooping it up and down through the air.
"Whoosh! Whoosh!" The bomber soared over the tabletop. Then Mork aimed it at a tank. "Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat!"
The hail of bullets tore the tank apart. Mork shouted, "Good shooting! Oh no, we've been hit! Get out of the bomber!"
Mork threw out the bomber, and it exploded into pieces atop a fortress. Then he leaped to the other end of the table and gave two sinister laughs. "Haha, Gork, why haven't you learned your lesson yet?"
Mork jumped back, deepened his voice, and replied, "I'm really sick of you, you rotten git!"
Mork laughed twice, then became so melancholy that he could not say another word.
"Gork wouldn't say something like that..." Mork scratched his head and turned to look at Gork's head, hoping it would fly up and give him a vicious blow before smashing the table to bits.
Under his hopeful gaze, Gork's head did not move at all.
Mork pursed his lips and sat before the table, propping