The fires of Terra smolder under a pale, trembling sun. Smoke curls over the Imperial Palace, twisting in patterns unnatural to the eye. Angron sits in the ruins, blackened nails gone, his rage subdued but not erased. Every movement feels foreign; the chains of his past corruption loosen, but the memory of slaughter clings. Elizabeth kneels beside him, white blade drawn lightly over the ground, sensing the Warp still rippling with his pain.
Angron's Legion spreads cautiously, millions of Space Marines moving with precision under Odinson's rebuilt command. Each step they take echoes through ruined streets, the remnants of the first rift's chaos still clinging to Terra's stones. Terran walks beside Elizabeth, calm and measured after months of therapy. His eyes track every movement, noting subtle tremors in the Warp, the faint distortions that hint at more than mere battle fatigue.
But even in this fragile calm, the universe itself stirs. The Warp quivers like a living thing, screaming in anticipation. Far beyond Terra, the four Chaos Gods—Khorne, Slaanesh, Nurgle, and Tzeentch—feel the rising presence of forces they have not fully known. The Chaos Beasts—Tiamat, Samael, Afri, and Distro—and the seven Chaos Gods of Sin pulse with raw, alien energy. Their emergence is unprecedented, their motives strange, yet unmistakably dangerous.
Khorne growls in frustration, his vision of endless slaughter threatened by the new blood in the Warp. Slaanesh shivers, intrigued and enraged simultaneously by the audacity of these new powers. Nurgle laughs, a sound that carries the weight of decay and inevitability, sensing that even his dominion of rot may be tested. Tzeentch stirs, plotting, calculating, recognizing threads of fate tangled by these interlopers—beasts and sins alike—that may upset the universe itself.
Back on Terra, Elizabeth's gaze lifts to the sky. "They are restless," she murmurs, feeling the psychic tremors pass through her. Angron growls low, his instincts half-warrior, half-Psychic sensing. Even now, the residual energy from his salvation bubbles, coalescing in ways he cannot yet understand. He rises, testing strength in his limbs, feeling both power and restraint.
The Imperium scrambles, but Enki and his family already act. Hella's undead scouts patrol the city edges, while Hawks' Astaris glide silently above, crimson wings reflecting the dying light. Ban sharpens his flaming sword, ready to strike any aberration that slips past. Gilgamesh surveys the city from orbit, Gates of Babylon shimmering with armaments, while Odinson begins rebuilding the casualties of the first battle.
Yet even as the family restores order, the rifts remain unpredictable. Some close, leaving behind the memory of hybrid demons; others shimmer faintly in the distance, whispering promises of reinforcements—or of more destruction. And far beyond the galaxy, in the roiling expanse of the Warp, the Chaos Gods themselves debate. The emergence of the Chaos Beasts and the Sin Pantheon is a warning and a challenge, and all four of the main Chaos Gods shift their influence subtly, preparing for the inevitable clash.
Elizabeth turns to Angron. "This peace is temporary," she says. "And the next rift—who knows what will come."
He merely nods, gripping his chains—now unneeded, yet symbolically heavy—feeling the weight of both his rage and his salvation. Somewhere, distant yet immediate, the universe waits, trembling, for the next opening. And from the shadows of the Warp, the combined gaze of eight alien Chaos powers—four main, four beasts, seven sins—lingers on the galaxy, curious, threatened, and hungry.