Avoiding it was too late. He had arrived upon the final chamber. It was... beyond description. The room's proportions were unreal and impossible. It felt like it went for Infinity, yet Feryun felt claustrophobic. Before him stretched a throne, a gigantic throne for a gigantic being. Sitting on a throne of books, bleached bones, rusty metal and marble pillars was Noiratrom. He... he was massive. He was twenty-five feet tall, his arms and legs were as wide as a chaos marine. He emanated a power so pure, yet in his appearance, he was extremely serene. No marks of decay, of twisted intent, of sexual impulse or of unfiltered rage. He was... calm. Chilling, almost, as he sent a chill down the sorcerer's spine. Basically, he wasn't that fuсked up, for someone so powerful with the warp. There was a certain beauty to his calm, to his majesty, to his simplicity. His troops knew a similar aspect. Their armour resembled more pre-heresy armour than chaotic warp spawns. Sure, a few of them were trapped in such curses. But their appearance seemed rather appeased instead of chaotic. His throne was about twenty feet in height, like a pyramid of power, next to it stood his mighty Dark Sentinel, fifty feet tall being of Daemonic twist. The room didn't belong to Nurgle, the god of plague. It didn't belong to Tzeentch, the god of Change. It didn't belong to Slaanesh, the god of sex. It didn't belong to Khorne, god of blood. It belonged to Noiratrom. God of Unity. Or, at least, such was his rightful title. [b][i][u]"Why have you come before me, Feryun?"[/u][/i][/b] He asks. Although he stood very far away from him, his voice was as clear as if it came directly from Feryun's head.