As Slaanesh's final, frenzied blessing spread like a plague, the entire Warp seemed to have been cast into a boiling furnace of filth.
The ultimate desire for slaughter collided and merged violently with the ultimate desire for fallen pleasure, producing a devastating chain reaction.
Khorne's mad soldiers, Slaanesh's empowered and utterly unrestrained daemon armies, and the endlessly multiplying Abyssal contaminants and Old Ones all tore into one another, transforming vast regions into a self-consuming, infinitely chaotic vortex of destruction.
Within this hellscape of despair, a small squad moved with difficulty like a skiff in a storm.
They were the Emperor's Binding Legion, sent by the will upon the Golden Throne. Their mission was to penetrate the source of this madness and uncover the truth behind the anomaly.
Yet the upheaval in the Warp had far exceeded expectations.
This elite squad had already paid a terrible price. Their once-complete ranks were now broken, the pale soul flames around them flickering dimly, their ancient armor covered in nonphysical stains and cracks.
Nearly half their members had been left behind forever in this land of madness.
Every loss burned itself into the survivors' souls like a brand, but their supreme Fealty to the Emperor remained their only beacon.
Driven by that iron will, they stubbornly pressed toward the most turbulent and chaotic heart of the disturbance.
They often sensed a faint yet clear "thought" guiding them, helping them find their way through Chaos and skirt the most dangerous regions.
They attributed it to the Emperor's great will protecting them from beyond, and that faith sustained their advance.
Yet they did not know that this seemingly life-saving guidance was actually a net meticulously woven by Tzeentch, the Lord of Change.
Tzeentch's power had cleverly turned them into pieces on a board, guiding this precious