A moment of clarity reached Noiratrom as he sat on his throne of rot, deep within the bowels of the cursed ship. For years now, he had been developing a plot, thick enough to impress even the mighty Tzeentch. This plan first appeared to him during his engagement with his brother, Tep-Pharon. When the loyal primarch had sent him hurling through the warp, what he saw, what he felt, marked him still to this day. Chaos wasn't as it seemed. Not at all. In battle, every being, no matter how powerful or weak, shares a similarity. Each and every one must bring out their worst. Their ruthlessness. Their violence. Their horrors. Yet, outside of battle, the same people may have good sides. And this was something he had not considered before. How much Chaos serves the balance of the Universe. It cannot be denied. Nor can it be removed. But... it can be unified. Each Chaos god reflects a certain aspect. Tzeentch reflects wisdom. Khorne reflects strength. Slaanesh reflects joy. Nurgle reflects life. When brought to arms, these concepts become the horrors spawned from the warp. These physical manifestations of galactic rules, however, often bicker uselessly and do not hear one another. If only they would... if only their power was made into one. Thus was his prophecy. The ultimate unification of chaos into a single being. The universe... made whole. Already, Noiratrom knew that strength would be needed to accomplish such an endeavour. Noiratrom, being the patron of Nurgle, was already quite powerful. But not powerful enough to accomplish his task. For this, he would need to cooperate with his brothers. He would need to gain power beyond comprehension... he didn't seek destruction. The Ashen Son was done hating his father. What he wanted was peace across the stars. And he believed that the only way to do so was to unify the great powers of the Universe. [i][u]"Horus, Alpharius, Perturabo, Magnus, Konrad, Lorgar... I will carry on the vision. I will make it true."[/u][/i] Deep within the eye of terror, in the realm of the Word Bearers, an apparition was seen. The followers of Nurgle immediately began worshipping this foggy being that reeked of Nurgle's stench, that made its way to the throne of Lorgar, Primarch of the Word Bearers. The two figures stood before one another, but none understood what was happening. They spoke indeed, but spoke through the mind. It was for what felt like minutes, hours. In the end, Lorgar smiled sadly at the foggy figure, putting a hand on it's shoulder. "I am proud of you, brother. Let the others know. Let them all know. We will stand with you." And just like that, Lorgar's energy was sucked from him, drained completely. He didn't scream, for there was no pain. He shriveled and disappeared, his soul floating within the foggy being. Suddenly, the masses of Word Bearers had been warped into the Bloodwrath, into the depths of the ship. Noiratrom sat onto his throne, he had just absorbed his brother's power, his soul, and in a massive surge of power had transported his newly acquired legion onto the Bloodwrath. The grim primarch grew in size, now reaching 19 feet of height. His armour was radiating with pure power. Every warp sensitive being on board the ship felt it, rhe raw power... He was no longer a complete slave of Nurgle. Yet this whole ordeal wasn't revealed to the god of the plague. Noiratrom would pursue this charade until he would be ready. As for his army... the Word Bearers, the Death Guard, they were no more. They were unified. The Sons of Chaos were born. And with one Prince of Chaos down, Five more were left. Five more powerful souls left to gather... as a famous chaos god once coined it; All was going according to plan.