Within the Realm of Chaos, where the raw emotions of the galaxy formed landscapes of pure madness, the gaze of the Four turned towards the same point. Not towards the familiar, hated golden gleam of the Anathema on Terra, but towards another star. A cold, blue star, growing in silence, whose ordered light burned like a reproach in the infinite disorder of the Warp.
Around a sea of molten souls, whose waves were made of rage, despair, schemes, and excess, their wills converged. It was not an alliance, but a council of predators observing a newcomer in the jungle.
Khorne, seated on a throne of bone and smoking steel, was the first to roar. His bellow made the infinite battlefields at his feet tremble.
"STRENGTH!"he thundered, his single eye burning with red fire. "HE DECAPITATES, HE CRUSHES, HE RENDS! BLOOD FLOWS IN TORRENTS FOR HIS GLORY! HE BEARS THE BLADE AND MAKES IT SING! WHY IS HE NOT MINE? HIS SOUL SHOULD BURN IN MY PITS!"
His fury was tinged with frustration.This martial power, this absence of fear in his warriors... it was a feast almost within reach, yet its flavor eluded him.
Tzeentch, whose form was a shifting kaleidoscope of feathers, eyes, and paradoxes, let out a laugh of crystalline crackles.
"Why is he not yours, Brother? Because he is not a mere butcher."His voice was a whisper spiraling in the mind. "Look beyond the blood. His plans span centuries. He weaves alliances with despised races. He builds a citadel of ORDER in OUR domain! His power is structured, calculated. He is... an architect. A change so radical, so... predictable. He belongs to me through the complexity of his destiny!"
The Changer of the Ways saw in Julius a new and fascinating piece on the great board,a riddle to be solved or shattered to understand its secrets.
Slaanesh, reclining on a bed of moaning flesh and precious silks, let out a groan of heightened pleasure.
"Oh,but can you not feel his determination?" murmured the androgynous deity, their voice a poisoned caress. "A will so pure, so absolute... It is an exquisite intensity. And his warriors... that personal hatred in his hunters, that cold efficiency in his clones. These are not crude emotions. They are refined passions. He understands perfection in the act of destruction. He shall be my masterpiece. The fall of such a being would be the sweetest of symphonies."
Nurgle, sitting in his garden of bubbling rot, let out a genial gurgle.
"All so rushed,so agitated," he rumbled, a stream of pus oozing from his putrid smile. "He builds, yes. He believes he builds for eternity. All built things eventually rot. All armies, eventually turn to dust. His light, so cold and so clean... it will grow lukewarm, then become covered in mold. Decay is inevitable, my dears. He is already a seed in my garden. Let him grow... so we may better savor his decomposition."
A heavy silence fell between them, more terrifying than any cacophony.
"He is not like the Anathema,"Tzeentch concluded, breaking the silence. "The Anathema denies us. He seeks to extinguish the Warp itself. This one... he uses it. He builds his own house within it. He does not deny us. He challenges us."
"A CHALLENGE?!" roared Khorne. "THEN LET HIM COME! LET HIM BRING HIS SOUL HERE AND WE SHALL SEE!"
"Patience, Brother," hissed Slaanesh. "A conquest too hasty would spoil all the pleasure."
Nurgle nodded, a new poisonous mushroom sprouting on his shoulder. "Yes, yes... let the rust do its work."
They agreed on nothing, as always. But on one point, their attention was now irrevocably fixed: Julius Braveheart. He was no longer a curiosity. He was a potential rival, a future champion to corrupt, or a threat to eradicate. The game had just become infinitely more complex. The Anathema had an echo, and the Dark Gods hated echoes.