The galaxy trembles. Even from the heart of the Imperium, the pulse of the Warp thrums like a living heartbeat, faint yet unmistakable. Enki senses it first, stretching his mind across light-years, touching threads of energy no human—or even Primarch—should perceive. Something stirs in the Warp, beyond the rifts, beyond the remnants of the hybrid demons.
Far above, in a place outside time, the Chaos Gods convene. Not on a throne, not in a palace, but in a shifting void of impossible geometries. Flames of crimson and gold lick against walls that do not exist; icy fog drifts upward and sideways simultaneously. Shadows coil and split, as if reflecting the thoughts of beings that have no singular form.
Khorne stands at the center, massive and imposing, a storm of bloodlust barely contained. Beside him, Slaanesh stretches, twisting, beautiful and horrifying, his form constantly fragmenting and recombining. Nurgle leans upon a twisted, fungal pillar of his own design, laughing as rot and decay drip from unseen cracks. Tzeentch floats above, his robes and feathers splitting into fractals, observing everything at once.
Across the void, four monstrous presences loom: Tiamat, Samael, Afri, and Distro, the Chaos Beasts. They do not bend like the traditional Chaos Gods. They tower in alien scale, their forms impossible to fully perceive. Tiamat writhes with chimeric offspring; Afri pulses with endless love twisted into obsession; Samael flickers in and out of existence, a shadow consuming all light; Distro shifts shape constantly, every second a new horror.
Finally, the seven Chaos Gods of Sin make their entrance. Their forms are diverse: some humanoid, some bestial, all radiating an aura of unrelenting temptation, cruelty, or perversion. They hiss and laugh, voices overlapping and dissonant, challenging the authority of the older Chaos Gods.
The air of the void vibrates. Sparks ignite between Tiamat and Khorne. The red god snarls, towering over the alien beast. "You encroach upon my dominion!" he bellows, his voice like exploding warships. Tiamat hisses, eyes swelling with infantile, monstrous shapes. "Your slaughter is petty. You cannot comprehend the children I bring!"
Slaanesh, ever curious, drifts closer to Afri, his tendrils brushing against her amorphous form. "Oh, sweet creature, your love is… excessive. You twist what should be pleasure into possession. Fascinating." Afri coils tighter, radiating warmth and suffocating heat. "You understand nothing of affection. You desire only yourself, not what I encompass."
Nurgle leans forward, chuckling. "Decay is eternal. Even your precious sins will rot eventually, children of Order. Do you truly think your schemes frighten me?" Distro snaps his shifting form into a dozen eyes and jaws. "I am not frightened. I consume, I destroy, I transform. Your rot is stagnant. My chaos is living."
Tzeentch watches silently, all his forms overlapping. Fractals twist in his feathers. "Change… mutation… evolution… You all misunderstand. None of you truly grasp the consequences of this emergence. These beasts, these sins—they shift reality, bend destiny in ways even I cannot fully calculate."
A tense silence stretches across the void. Sparks of psychic energy flare as the gods study each other. Some glow red-hot with aggression, others swirl with curiosity or disgust.
"Enough posturing," a voice slices through the void. It is not a god, yet it carries authority. It is Enki, watching, reaching into the minds of the Chaos Gods. He does not speak in words, but in visions, intent, and force. "Your games are small. The galaxy bleeds. The Imperium struggles. Your petty conflicts risk unraveling all."
Khorne snarls, fists clenching. "Mortal! Do you presume to speak to gods of war?"
"I presume," Enki replies, his thought sharp as a blade, "to save what is mine to protect. You are not absolute. You are facets. I am the line that orders reality against your fracture."
The Chaos Gods bristle. The Chaos Beasts shift closer, their alien forms pulsing with hostility. The Gods of Sin hiss, muttering in overlapping tongues. A spark ignites—a psychic explosion visible across the galaxy. For a moment, all their power collides. Stars shiver; warp storms ripple across real space.
And in the physical galaxy, Primarchs feel it. Angron's fists clench, his rage tethered yet raw. Terran's eyes flare with psychic awareness. Elizabeth senses threads of the conflict tugging at her soul. Even Odinson pauses mid-rebuild of his Space Marines, as if aware that some unseen hands manipulate fate itself.
Hawks, Ban, Gilgamesh, and the rest of Enki's children feel a subtle weight, a vibration of power they cannot name, emanating from the rifts yet to open. They exchange glances, unspoken understanding passing between them: the war is no longer merely terrestrial. It is cosmic.
The first strike comes from Khorne, a surge of raw, bloody energy toward Tiamat. The beast responds, coiling a mass of offspring that erupt into a wave of psychic terror. The collision sends shivers through the Warp. Nurgle, amused, releases spores that cling to both combatants. Slaanesh watches with delight, teasing the edges of Afri's form, while Distro lashes out, a shifting tide of monstrous jaws and claws threatening all nearby.
From within the Imperium, Elizabeth speaks aloud, though the gods cannot hear her in human voice. "This is what happens when chaos multiplies unchecked," she murmurs. "We cannot simply fight their spawn. We must understand them… predict them."
Angron growls low, pacing, chains long discarded. "Their power is… endless," he says, almost to himself. "They fight with fury, yes—but with purpose alien to all I know. If I am to survive this, I must strike true, not with rage, but with… awareness."
Terran adds quietly, "Awareness is not enough. We need preparation, coordination. The Legions cannot fight blindly, or the chaos pantheons will devour worlds before we even reach them."
Elizabeth nods. Her eyes close briefly, sensing the threads. She extends her mind slightly, touching the rift that remains open above Terra. She feels the tremors of hybrid demons, the residue of corrupted Primarchs, and the distant hum of the next rift forming. It is unstable, unpredictable. It could bring aid—or ruin.
Back in the void, the gods pause their conflict, circling each other like predators. Khorne snarls, watching Tiamat with suspicion. "We will not submit to your children," he growls. "Your beasts threaten our slaughter, your sins defile it. There is no place for you here."
Tiamat hisses, writhing. "Then let there be war. Let the galaxy itself become the battlefield. Your dominion is thin, fragile. My children will multiply. My influence will spread."
Slaanesh smiles, more beautiful than terror, observing Afri. "Perhaps… we need not destroy each other yet. There is… curiosity to explore."
Distro shifts, forming a dozen jagged maws. "Curiosity is weakness. Kill, consume, transform. That is all."
Nurgle chuckles, his spores drifting outward. "Even your chaos is temporary. Only decay is eternal."
Tzeentch folds into impossible fractals. "And yet… destiny bends. We shall see whose plans prevail."
The council of Chaos pauses. No one yields fully. Sparks of energy pulse in waves, visible in the Warp, even bleeding faintly into real space. Every action echoes across star systems. Even distant planets feel a subtle tremor.
Elizabeth opens her eyes. "The next rift is forming. And it will not wait for your deliberations."
Angron's claws dig into the ground. "Then we act. We cannot—no—we must not—let them decide the fate of this galaxy without our hand."
Terran steps beside them, calm, measured. "Every rift. Every legion. Every Primarch. We fight, but we prepare. Observation first, precision second. Chaos is patient. So must we be."
Enki watches, omniscient, silent but aware. His siblings prepare themselves, Legions organizing across Terra and nearby systems. The council of Chaos may squabble, fight, or parley, but in the galaxy itself, every moment matters.
And in the distance, the sixth rift begins to shimmer faintly, promising new arrivals. Among them, the Emperor's wife waits, patient, eternal, her presence destined to shift the balance.
The stage is set. The galaxy hangs between salvation and utter ruin, and the children of Enki, guided by the Emperor's brother and his firstborn, step forward into the unknown.