The Warp, a lost world twisted by the power of faith.
There was no distinction between sky and earth here. Countless magnificent temples and spired cathedrals rose like grotesque crystals, piercing the eternal twilight thick with the scents of incense and ashes.
Massive symbols of Chaos flickered across every wall and dome. Countless twisted figures writhed within them, praying and conducting endless dark masses.
This was the "perfect" world created by Lorgar, primarch of the Word Bearers and now a Daemon Prince—a horrifying nest that gave form to his fanatical worship of gods.
Yet its creator felt not the slightest peace or satisfaction at that moment.
Lorgar's towering daemon form stood before his throne, built from scripture and bones. His face, covered in vile runes, held eyes filled with agitation and barely concealed fear.
His gaze swept over the devoutly kneeling Word Bearer followers in the hall, yet seemed to pass straight through them, fixed firmly on a point in the void.
He was hiding.
From one hunter he could neither understand nor defeat—his brother, Corax.
In his eyes, the Raven Lord had completely thrown himself into some older, darker power of shadow.
Corax's very existence was like an absolute void that devoured light. The nature of his power made even Lorgar, a Daemon Prince blessed by the Chaos Gods, find him exceptionally troublesome and difficult to handle.
That shadow could evade spells and pierce his defenses. Every brief encounter had inflicted devastating losses upon him, forcing him to cower within this long-established lair and rely on the faith of the entire world to build layer upon layer of defenses, barely resisting the ever-present pursuit.
The other reason was the drastic changes beyond this world. Though he hid here, he was not ignorant of the outside.
From the moment the