"Why are all my neighbors idiots?" Tzeentch could not understand it no matter how he thought about it. They were all Chaos Gods, yet he alone had a functioning brain.
To his left, Slaanesh and Khorne were fighting again. Their armies were locked in an endless battle across the Flashblade Plains and Skull Heights. Every day, vast numbers of daemons streamed from the depths of their domains and threw themselves into that never-ending battlefield.
Tzeentch only hoped those two had a halfway respectable reason for fighting this time, rather than something like three hundred years ago, when Slaanesh had stolen Khorne's axe to play with it.
Nurgle, on his right, was not behaving either. He was cheering and celebrating in that filthy garden of his again. Tzeentch felt sick just hearing those phlegm-choked voices.
"They must be playing house with that Aeldari goddess again. What new thing did they make to eat this time? They pull this every few hundred years. It really is annoying."
Tzeentch raised his head and gazed at the increasingly clear strands of fate. He felt that he might not have much time left. Perhaps the entire realm of Chaos did not have much time left. The Subjective One was simply unstoppable. The pieces Tzeentch had secretly planted had failed to provide the delay they were meant to.
Kaznamak's Eye—that bald fool had really dared to believe in it. The three Black Legion warriors he had dispatched had truly lived up to their reputation for winning a hundred battles, giving themselves away to the Subjective One so easily that they had not even bought half a year's time.
Just before the warp rift he had deliberately maintained aboard the ship was about to draw in the armies of the other three gods, he had needed only