Duke Fenwyk opened his eyes...

He remembered his battle with the mighty Chaos Lord, driving his sword through his foe's heart and the storm of chaotic magic this unleashed.

He remembered falling, falling through the void, before everything went black.

Now he lay on a plain of sintered obsidian, the sky a pulsing heaving oil pool of myriad colours, appearing to battle each other for chromatic dominance.

Dark buildings of living steel thrust skyward; menacing fingers of malice wrought from god-made metals, mocking the mundane architecture of mortal man.

From every corner, jutted howling demonic faces, parodies of of the beautiful marble statuary in the churches of the lands of men.

Then, Fenwyk heard it; a susurration rising to a mighty roar and then words... Words crafted to score the very hearts of mortals who heard it.

"Prepare for damnation puny mortal!"

Fenwyk's eyes went wide with disbelief as he struggled to his feet, to face what was to come. From his dry lips, a simple phrase escaped...

"Oh how very, very tacky..."

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