The mountains loomed high, the sun and moon were obscured, the wind howled, and thunder rumbled across the sky.
An army of approximately fifty thousand was waiting around the Bladed Mountains of the World's Edge Mountains.
This Chaos army was awaiting the return of its leader, Archaon.
Of course, those waiting at the forefront, aside from Archaon's most trusted lieutenant, Crom, were the Daemon Prince Be'lakor and the nun Giselle, who had been by Archaon's side since his days as the Empire's Templar Knight, Diederick, and had always shared a certain relationship with him.
At the base of the Bladed Mountains lay the bodies of hundreds of dwarfs. This was the army led by the dwarf hero, Flak Bombardier, who had come to the Bladed Mountains to try and stop the coronation of the Everchosen after receiving fragmented prophecies from the Grungni priests.
Despite the valiant efforts of Flak Bombardier and his army, they were no match for Archaon's forces. Faced with the onslaught of the Sword of Chaos and the Kheshig from the Kurgan steppes, the dwarf army was quickly routed. Flak was seized by the Daemon Prince Be'lakor, who infused him with endless Chaos energy, turning the dwarf hero into a solid stone statue before hurling him into a deep chasm, shattering him into pieces.
The battle ended so quickly that it seemed as if nothing had happened.
The Daemon Prince gazed into the deep entrance, the surging Chaos energy within reminding Be'lakor of his past, now that he had a moment of clarity.
Be'lakor's life was so ancient that he could barely remember when he was born. This jet-black Daemon Prince, with his terrifying horns, the eight-pointed Chaos star on his chest, and his massive black wings adorned with skulls, vaguely recalled that he had already been one of the most powerful Chaos warlords when the Old Ones were still active. At that time, the unrestricted Chaos daemons rarely had any who could rival Be'lakor. As a Chaos warlord, he ravaged the world, causing countless wounds and slaughter, leaving a deep impression on the Chaos Gods.
Back then, the Old Ones' portals were still operational, and the Four Gods found it difficult to directly intervene in the mortal world. Thus, they collectively bestowed their blessings upon Be'lakor, making him the first ascended being in human history—the first, and possibly the only, undivided Daemon Prince of Chaos.
At that time, Be'lakor was a hot commodity. The Chaos Gods competed to grant him blessings, artifacts, and power, vying for his loyalty.
However, Be'lakor was ambitious. He didn't want to be a dog to the Chaos Gods but instead dreamed of ascending to become the fifth Chaos God. The Daemon Prince took the benefits but didn't do the work. Initially, he waged wars, enslaving and corrupting mortals, but soon began to slack off and preserve his strength.
This behavior enraged the Chaos Gods. With the collapse of the portals, the Gods elevated more Daemon Princes from mortals, diluting Be'lakor's power. Be'lakor, of course, wasn't having it, and a great Chaos civil war broke out. While the first Phoenix King, Aenarion, single-handedly fought four Greater Daemons on the Isle of the Dead, Be'lakor and a host of Daemon Princes were busy with their civil war, directly leading to the failure of the ritual to stop the Great Vortex.
The Daemon Prince's actions angered the Gods, and Tzeentch delivered punishment, stripping Be'lakor of his physical form and turning him into pure energy—a shadow that could only rage impotently. Be'lakor became the "Eternal Sparring Partner," tasked with crowning the Everchosen, to make him understand who was truly in charge.
As the "Eternal Sparring Partner," Be'lakor had tried to escape this fate. He once attempted to possess a newly crowned Everchosen, but the energy was too vast, and the new Everchosen's body simply split apart.
Then he went to Albion to try and seize the Old Ones' energy and the Truthsayer artifacts. This has been mentioned before and won't be repeated here. Be'lakor ultimately failed, though he did gain a small portion of the Old Ones' energy. However, he managed to regain a sliver of sanity and began to plot.
He split off a portion of his power to incarnate as a Norscan warlord who raided the north and impregnated a woman in a village. The woman later died in childbirth, leaving behind a posthumous child. The woman's husband abandoned the child in the forest, but it was found by a priest of Sigmar and named Diederick. This child would later become a priest, a Templar Knight, and a Witch Hunter.
Then Be'lakor incarnated as a nun of Sigmar, named Giselle, becoming Diederick's lover and gradually leading the priest into darkness.
Now, the time for harvest had come!
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Archaon spent an entire day and a half climbing the peak of the Bladed Mountains. The World's Edge Mountains were so high that even Archaon couldn't reach the summit quickly.
But even the longest journey has an end. After a day and a half of climbing, Archaon reached the summit and saw the roiling, multicolored lightning and flames in the sky, along with a massive gate marked with the symbol of Chaos. He knew his journey was at its end.
This was the first Chaos shrine in the world, the place where Be'lakor had ascended to daemonhood.
The double-layered gate emitted endless Chaos energy, slightly ajar. Inside were bizarre illusions and countless monsters—Chaos-corrupted beasts that had lost their sanity, imprisoned daemons that had committed grave errors, twisted souls yearning for freedom, and the will of Chaos permeating the entire gate.
The whispers of the Dark Gods echoed in Archaon's ears, a voice both cunning and ever-changing.
"You've come! You've finally arrived! A guest, a visiting guest has arrived!" the cunning voice said excitedly. "I prepared sweets for you, but I ate them all. Want to guess what the sweets were? Who ate them?"
"He, looks, not, strong, enough, nor, obedient," a slow, ponderous voice stammered. "Hmm, but, sturdy, patient, and, resilient."
"Oh! A warrior, the most charming and exciting warrior! My dear, you've finally arrived. I've been waiting for you for so long. I'm so infatuated with you, so fond of you. Oh, what kind of surprise will you bring me now?" a voice that was both feminine and masculine, or perhaps neither, spoke. "But I undoubtedly love those who are loyal. Are you?"
"Blood and glory! Slaughter and destruction! You are the thirteenth Everchosen!" a furious, bloodthirsty voice roared, seemingly scrutinizing the new arrival. "Without exception, they all failed. We grant you this opportunity, this trial. It is the highest honor!"
"You chose me?" Archaon sneered, his voice filled with mockery and disdain. "You must have made a mistake."
"It was I! I decided to destroy the world. I decided to give Charlemagne and his hypocritical, cowardly Empire a fitting end! I will overthrow the Empire, expose the true nature of those false gods, and make everyone see through their lies and cowardice," Archaon drew his sword, the Slayer of Kings, its blade burning with crimson flames. "It was I who chose you! I gave you the chance to fulfill your dream of destroying the world."
"Remember this! Once I deal with the Empire, I'll come back to settle the score with you! I will reclaim everything you've inflicted upon me!" Archaon finished coldly.
"Wow! What a stirring speech! Your words make my heart flutter!" the androgynous voice said excitedly.
"It's, okay, even, if, you, don't, like, me, Daddy, still, loves, you," the slow, decaying voice seemed to change. "Daddy, loves, every, child."
"Oh? You don't want to eat my sweets? Or have you already eaten them? In a thousand parallel universes, there are a thousand Everchosen facing a thousand identical sweets. What will they do? Eat them, spit on them, or throw them on the ground? Are the thousand parallel universes illusions or real? Or perhaps, from the very beginning, the sweets never existed? Wait, how do we define 'from the very beginning'? Where does this concept come from? What standard counts as 'from the very beginning'? Can you understand all of this?" the cunning voice chattered incessantly.
"Enough!" the furious voice roared, interrupting the cunning one. It took a deep breath, and Archaon could almost smell sulfur and brass in the air. "It doesn't matter what you think. As long as you continue to offer skulls and blood to my altar, I will keep watching you."
"Now, begin!" the four voices spoke as one.
Archaon walked into the depths of the gate without looking back.
What greeted him was a dazzling array of structures.
Sounds, images, illusions, and strange sensations overwhelmed Archaon. He found himself in a luminous realm, where everything was polished like pebbles, and he could see himself everywhere.
His past self, his failed self, his lost self, his twisted self.
Everything was in flux. Every passageway opened, closed, shifted, dissolved, merged, and split. At the end of each path, Archaon saw a different outcome for himself.
He saw his past.
He had once been Diederick, a warrior priest of the north, also a Witch Hunter and Templar Knight. Once, he had been so devout and fervent, strong and chivalrous, as brave as the young Charlemagne.
In the illusions, he saw himself as Diederick, fighting valiantly and eventually becoming the Grand Theogonist of the Sigmarite Church. He saw himself as Diederick, becoming the Grand Master of the Templar Knights. He saw himself as Diederick, becoming the greatest Witch Hunter. He saw himself as Diederick, with statues erected in his honor so that future generations would remember him.
Of course, Diederick didn't always survive. Sometimes he died a hero, sometimes he died in obscurity, with people still searching for his remains. Sometimes he died meaninglessly, becoming a cautionary tale. Sometimes he died ridiculously, becoming a laughingstock.
Yet Archaon couldn't help but tremble. Devoting his life to the Empire as Diederick had once been his life's pursuit!
If not... if not for that nun named Giselle, transporting the Book of Fate.
Gazing at the illusions of the Crystal Labyrinth, Archaon saw a thousand possibilities. Fear, distortion, and hope echoed in his mind. Dreams and nightmares contrasted repeatedly, the countless possibilities extended by Tzeentch driving Archaon to the brink of madness. Confusion and despair left him disheartened.
A thousand outcomes for himself, a thousand deaths for Giselle, each one unbearably real. Such delusions could drive even the most steadfast mortal to madness, insanity, or suicide.
The Everchosen felt himself teetering on the edge of insanity. He covered his head with his hands, forcing himself to break free from these illusions and nightmares.
Mortkin had failed this way!
Archaon covered his eyes. The Everchosen stopped looking at the illusions of Tzeentch's labyrinth. He even shut off his hearing and smell, relying solely on instinct—the instinct granted by the Eye of Sheerian—to continue moving through the labyrinth.
No one knew how long Archaon groped through the Crystal Labyrinth. Perhaps minutes, perhaps days, perhaps years, perhaps centuries. The Everchosen abandoned all his senses, unmoved by any scene that appeared. He no longer cared for anything in the world. His only remaining desire was destruction.
Even if his parents reached out, begging him to return home. Even if the Grand Theogonist wept, admitting his mistake. Even if Charlemagne himself knelt, pleading for Archaon to repent. Even if Giselle asked him to retreat with her. Even if he saw his best and worst outcomes, Archaon remained unmoved.
Holding onto this thought, he pressed on. Finally, the Everchosen succeeded. When he passed through the ninth golden arch, the illusions of the Crystal Labyrinth vanished.
He had passed Tzeentch's trial.
"The sweets always exist!"
Following Tzeentch's Crystal Labyrinth was Nurgle's trial.
Nurgle's trial wasn't as complex as Tzeentch's. The test of the God of Decay and Disease was simple: illness.
First came kidney stones. Archaon felt excruciating pain in his lower abdomen. The Everchosen bent over in agony, his face pale, wanting to roll on the ground in pain, nearly passing out.
Next was arthritis. Waves of nerve pain drove Archaon to the brink of madness.
Trigeminal neuralgia struck suddenly, then stopped—lightning-like, stabbing, burning, relentless, and unpredictable.
Interstitial cystitis caused swelling and burning pain in his lower abdomen.
Cluster headaches, rapid and recurring pain around his eyes, made Archaon unable to even reach out to gouge his eyes out.
That wasn't all. A drilling pain in his teeth made Archaon scream in agony. Before he could figure out what was happening to his teeth, large patches of shingles appeared on his body, burning like fire, cutting like a saw, tormenting his nerves.
The Bladed Mountains echoed with Archaon's screams of torment.
After enduring such horrific suffering, the Everchosen lay on the ground, unresponsive, only the occasional twitch of his body proving he was still alive.
Hours later, Archaon, afflicted with dozens of rare and painful diseases, stood up. Beneath his armor and cloak were streams of sweat and blood, his skin and organs no longer human.
But Archaon stood up. With supreme willpower, he resisted Nurgle's diseases and pressed on.
He still had a world to destroy!
He couldn't fall here!
After days of torment, Archaon never once thought of suicide or giving up. He continued forward.
Nurgle saw Archaon's determination. The Grandfather murmured with satisfaction, "A, good, child, who, isn't, picky. Come, to, Daddy's, arms, my, precious. Daddy, loves, you."
The diseases vanished.
As Nurgle's will receded, the androgynous voice returned.
"Well, well, aren't you something?"
"Now, it's my turn! You little minx!"
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