In Khorne's domain, the front line of the Blood War had become a chaotic mire beyond description.
The lines of Khorne's daemon armies had already been shattered beneath the assault of endless Old Ones' spawn and continuously defecting mutant daemons.
Valiant charges were drowned in cold madness, and glorious battle cries were replaced by meaningless shrieks.
For every enemy that fell, even more twisted monsters seemed to crawl out of the shadows, while former comrades mutated amid whispers.
The Blood God's fury had long since boiled to its peak.
He could feel his subordinates' bitter struggle. He could feel that battlefield being polluted and assimilated by a cold madness He utterly loathed.
This was no longer war, but a blasphemy against the very concept of "war" itself!
"Enough!"
The roar did not come from any particular daemon. It arose from Khorne's entire domain, from the wrathful essence of the Warp itself.
Upon the Brass Throne, that immense divine body forged from endless rage and the concept of war finally moved.
Rather than dispatching more troops as usual, He rose in person.
A battle-axe vast enough to split the stars—perhaps the embodiment of the very concept of Destruction itself—appeared in His hand.
With a single step, Khorne crossed an endless distance through the Warp and descended directly onto the bloody battlefield that had become the Abyss's front line.
His arrival itself was like a devastating blow.
Pure godly pressure spread outward like a tangible tsunami. Beneath that terrifying force, the lesser Old Ones' spawn and mutant daemons instantly melted and collapsed like snowflakes cast into a steel furnace, silently turning into the most fundamental energy particles without even being able to scream.
Even some weaker Old Ones began to flicker violently, their twisted forms becoming unstable like a distorted image with