99. Slaanesh's Grand Stage!

Winter and grasslands—disordered superposition—xenos—the mad serpent devouring its own tail—conceptual backlash—the self-entertainer—the lunatic, the Queen of Desire, the skin-shedder, the madman, the dancer who danced with fire—

Break down that wall.

Bring it into the realm of illusion.

Madman.

Lord of Desire.

Winner?

Loser?

Nine hundred quadrillion whispers condensed into eerie light, streaking past bird feathers—the Keeper of Secrets, the lord who governed fate, the player of time, the trader—

Chess player.

The merciful one wept, the Blood God severed his own arm, and the path toward the supreme stairway closed; one was cunning, one brutal; one was light, one imprisoned—

Chess piece.

The endgame was about to be decided.

+You saw it—but in truth, you did not see reality or the truth—time is but a toy imprisoned in a narrow little box—and you are that cat.+

+Me? I am merely a spectator.+

Cooperation became a grotesque tale, yet you could still hold the reins. Your savage, absurd colleagues were the beasts beneath you, though they did not know it.

Perhaps they were pleased to see this as well.

The newcomer was still young. Wielding authority had driven him mad, leaving him unable to see the road ahead—it was merely a respite beyond the gods' gaze. The gods had awakened, joyful as if drinking water, mad as startled rabbits.

The Lord of Change would avert his gaze. The curtain became a plaything between reality and illusion. Of them all, the youngest Ouroboros understood this best, and she was laughing joyfully.

And the chess player knew what the chess piece wanted.

He looked toward the Emperor.

The galaxy was trembling.

Some vast and absurd existence was invading it. Pain made eternal suns fall, while stars boiled and burned beneath unbearable heat.

No.

He was entering it, and it was entering