The Crystal Labyrinth, usually a kaleidoscope of possibilities, had settled into a dull, oppressive grey. The air crackled with static, the laughter of Flamers replaced by a low, guttural growl. Tzeentch, the Changling God, sat upon his throne, his form a tempestuous vortex of ever-shifting rage.

A single, silver thread stretched across his palm, the tapestry of fate it represented twisted and frayed. It belonged to a mortal, a champion of Order, who had dared to defy his machinations. This mortal, with their unwavering faith and predictable path, had unraveled one of Tzeentch's most intricate schemes, a masterpiece of orchestrated chaos that stretched across galaxies.

The rage simmering within Tzeentch exploded. He lashed out in his own way. In a low, rumbling voice he echoed,

"Oh, how delightfully predictable, little pawn! You think you've unraveled my tapestry, but you've merely nudged a thread, causing the pattern to shimmer in ways I hadn't foreseen, yet find most amusing. Go on, dance to my unscripted rhythm, and witness the glorious mayhem you've wrought!"

The fabric of reality shuddering as he ripped the thread from the Loom of Fate. With a scream that echoed through the Labyrinth, he hurled it into the churning vortex at the heart of his domain, a place where even possibilities went to die.