Freezing winds blasted the landscape, but Valmir Bloodfist felt not a thing. Long since encased in an ensorcelled suit of Chaos Armor that protected and nourished him, the feel of the wind on his face was but one of the many comforts he had given up in his service to Khorne. The Blood God granted his servants unparalleled strength and martial prowess, but asked much in return: their homes, families, bodies, and souls. It was a price Valmir had gladly paid.

Now he led his daemonic steed – another gift of the Blood God – tightly by the reigns. It, like all such things, was a vicious and bloodthirsty creature, willing to turn on its master the moment it sensed hesitation or relaxing of control. But Valmir had not survived the centuries since his first blood in the Great War against Magnus the Pious by being unwary or foolish. So the horse-creature carried his armored form through the surrounding blizzard with reluctance, but it obeyed.

In this time of holy war, with another Everchosen at last there to lead the forces of the Dark Gods against the weak men of the south, Valmir had wanted nothing more than to join Crom the Conqueror’s vanguard sweeping from Norsca, through the ruins of Kislev and into the Empire. But the visions from his lord had been unusually clear and direct – his was to be another task. He would instead lead the vanguard of Chaos Knights, all sworn to the Lord of Battle, into a new world, and sacrifice it in the name of his master. He would set aside his enmity for the others of the horde – even the wretched Slaaneshi witch Aldrisia – and work together. At least, until their task was done.

There were relics in this other realm, Valmir and a select few others had learned, that held back the worst of the Dark Gods’ strength. Daemons could not manifest in this new world, nor could the planet be claimed, until they were removed. The gods could open for a short time a way for their human servants, but no more. Their task, then, was to sacrifice these magicks to the gods until the barrier grew thin enough that they could force their legions through. If this could be accomplished, Khorne’s messenger had promised in Valmir’s dreams, daemonhood and an eternity of slaughter would be his.

So it was that the proud Norscan warrior found himself at the very tip of a great horde of Chaos marching, seemingly aimlessly, through a barren wasteland of ice and snow. For as far as they could see in all directions there was nothing more than an endless plain of white, and grey clouds overhead. They had been on the move now for what seemed to have been weeks, though with neither sun nor moon nor stars of any kind, there was no way to measure the days. Such concepts as time were so fluid in the Chaos Wastes as to be meaningless in any case. One could roughly determine how long it had been solely by the corpses of those weaklings who had collapsed of exhaustion and been trampled by their fellows.

Valmir turned his horned helm left and then right for what might have been the first time or the thousandth, his burning yellow eyes sweeping out to take in his surroundings. As ever, he saw nothing but more frozen hellscape in both directions, and his brothers riding their own steeds around and behind him. Not one of his fellow Chaos Knights dared to pull ahead, of course. Valmir had determined that the first blood to be shed in this new world would go to him, and none other. His lance and sword hungered for violence, but save for his brothers and the distant horde behind, there were no targets for his wrath. Irritated, once again, he spurred the daemonic horse to go faster in the vague hope that it would accomplish something.

Perhaps, Valmir reflected as the supernatural mount sped up its pace, this was but a cruel jest of the gods. Perhaps there was no new world to conquer, merely a frozen death for those out of their favor. It was hardly unknown among the legends of the men of the north for the capricious Dark Gods to withdraw their favor for strange reasons, or sometimes for no reason at all. For a proud warrior of Chaos to perish in an ignominious manner without rhyme or reason at the merciless whim of the Ruinous Powers was a fate too miserable to contemplate.

And yet, had it not already happened? Though the Chaos Warriors, encased in their protective armor, were immune to weather conditions or exhaustion whether on foot or saddled, the same was not true of the mortal men who marched with them. Even the mutants and monstrosities of the horde could be worn down by weeks of ceaseless marching. Not even the great dragon ridden by the sorcerer lord Aesinling could maintain its flight forever. Perhaps the gods simply wished them to die, and so had sent them on a fools’ errand into the heart of the Chaos Wastes.

Valmir shook his head.

No, that couldn’t be the case. Khorne favored Valmir, he knew it. He had offered men and elves and dwarfs and ogres and all manner of creatures up to the Blood God in sacrifice. Hundreds of the uncounted skulls in the Skull Throne had been sent there by the knight. He had done nothing to earn the god’s ire – not fled battle nor embraced witchcraft nor resorted to cowardly treachery to earn victory. The Blood God had blessed him many times, and Valmir was sure he must be destined for greater things than dying a miserable death of the elements in the middle of nowhere. This fresh world would taste his blade, and he would burn it all to the ground in the name of the name of Khorne.

So Valmir kept the faith during the long march through the Chaos Wastes.

For many more days and nights the march continued, the hordes filled with unnatural vitality by the power of the Dark Gods. Some perished along the way, fallen victim to the freezing winds or the hunger of the others, but many more endured. Hundreds of thousands trailed in the wake of Valmir and his Chaos Knights, eager to reach the unspoiled lands that they had been promised.

One day, without warning, the blizzard was suddenly gone. Within the space of minutes, the freezing air became warm, and the snows around the horde disappeared. The grey skies above them fell away, replaced by a verdant sunshine. Somehow, they were quickly marching through verdant spring fields, full of grasses and flowers and game. Some praised the Dark Gods and immediately set to killing any animals they came across, eager to fill their bellies with untainted meat once more. A few even attempted to scatter from the horde to seek more prey. These were quickly brought back into line by the armored Chaos Warriors, who had no patience for their indiscipline.

Valmir, in the vanguard, smiled as his faith was rewarded even as he yearned to burn the disgusting purity around him into ash. He restrained himself from the temptation to destroy the weak and effete who wished to indulge in this place, pressing his steed still onwards. It could not be far now.

Within minutes, the Norscan was to be proved correct. His eyes, supernaturally blessed with the sight of a hawk at hunt, spotted something gleaming in the distance. Valmir nudged the daemonic steed closer, until he could make out exactly what it was on the horizon.

A city that looked to be made entirely of jewels. Sparkling crystals of all kinds rose up from the ground in the shape of houses, buildings, and even a great tower in the center of it all. The roads themselves looked to be made of pure diamond. Once the vast riches on display would have stoked the fires on greed and ambition in Valmir’s heart. Now all he saw was weakness and vanity. There was no defensibly to this city. No walls, no pits, no great gates. Not even a simple wall of wooden stakes that even the least of the settled tribes could muster.

Disgusting weakness.

Even worse, Valmir could feel the taint of sorcery emanating from that place. Though the city itself struck him as a place the effete Slaanieshi might build, they magic he sensed there was even worse than theirs. At least the sorcery of Slaanesh came from the power of Chaos, but the stink of witchcraft coming from that city was utterly repulsive to him in a way that he had never truly felt before. It stank of hateful purity, of love, of indolence, of kindness, and of all the things Lord Khorne despised in his servants. The urge to tear it down in a wave of fire and blood was overwhelming.

Valmir smiled beneath his helmet and made a hand gesture. At his signal, his brothers turned around and rode back for the horde.

They had found their first target.