After Lox unequivocally made his position clear, Vashtorr understood that there was no longer any possibility of cooperation between them.
This human named Lox was cut from the same cloth as that stubborn, infuriating Emperor.
Even when they had the chance to sit upon the Chaos throne, needing only a nod and the twitch of a finger to complete their ascension, they still disdained it. Worse, they sought to prevent every other contender from advancing even a single step.
A torrent of complex emotions—extreme jealousy and the rage of humiliation—washed over Vashtorr's cold mind, one built from logic and ambition.
The ultimate goal he had painstakingly pursued for countless ages, crawling through the technological ruins and war ashes of innumerable civilizations, was actually a burden the other party could discard with ease.
Vashtorr rationally analyzed Lox's warning and, from an objective standpoint, found some merit in it.
But what did it matter if the throne was not as wonderful as imagined?
From the moment of his birth, Vashtorr had advanced along the path of malign artifice.
He had drawn power from the technological progress and arms races of countless civilizations, constantly strengthening himself until he became the Lord of the Forge he was today.
Aside from the four Chaos Gods, within the Warp encompassed by the Warhammer universe, he was already among the foremost lesser gods.
For an existence like him, the meaning of life was reduced to fulfilling his ultimate pursuit—taking the throne, completing his ascension, and rising into godhood.
If he abandoned that meaning, even as a lesser god, Vashtorr would collapse and die in an instant. He would be denying himself, and the Warp was a place where mind triumphed over matter; the collapse of one's will would trigger a chain reaction.
Perhaps Lox was right. Perhaps