The Age of Chaos descended when the legions of the Dark Gods burst through the realmgates and drowned creation in blood and madness. The golden pacts of the previous age shattered as god turned against god, and the great pantheon Sigmar had gathered was scattered, corrupted, or slain. Nagash was betrayed, Alarielle fled into hiding, and the Slaves to Darkness carved bloody roads across every realm in the name of the Ruinous Powers.
Realm by realm the light was extinguished. Khorne's brass legions turned Aqshy into a furnace of slaughter; Nurgle's gardens rotted the green heart of Ghyran; Tzeentch and Slaanesh claimed dominions of madness and excess. The mortal civilisations of the Age of Myth were ground to dust, their survivors enslaved, devoured, or hunted to the last.
Sigmar fought until hope itself failed. When his allies were dead or turned, and the realms lay in chains, the God-King retreated at last across the Bridge of Heaven and sealed the gates of Azyr behind him. For long centuries he watched the ruined realms in grief and silence, gathering the noblest souls of the fallen.
In that darkness Sigmar wrought his answer in secret. Upon the Anvil of Apotheosis he reforged mortal heroes into immortal warriors, storing his vengeance like lightning in a bottle. The Age of Chaos would not last forever, though every soul left in the realms had forgotten what dawn looked like.
The chronicle continues
