As unleashed greenskin energy whirls, you have a scant few seconds to use Mork's withdrawal to think clearly. Your act of cunning had allowed Mork to make you the conduit for his Cunning. But you
already were a conduit for a God of Cunning, were you not? More than any mere worshipper. You have witnessed His battles, channelled His favour, and dedicated shrines to Him. Somewhere within you was the part where
your own Ulgu-entwined soul reached out to Ranald, just as inside you was the part where Mork had slipped behind your eyes and used you as his puppet. All you have to do is bridge the two...
On another plane, Mork has just found himself sitting at a dice table with a man who always smiles, never blinks, and has every ace to ever exist up his sleeve.
A single die tumbles.
What other result could there be but Four, for the Fourfold God?
Mork had poured His terrible power into you, and with typical greenskin carelessness had done nothing to seal that connection after his purpose had concluded.
A single strand of Ulgu touches the aperture that Mork had torn in your soul, and its other end extended into nothingness, offered freely to your oldest and most infuriating companion. And with a delighted laugh, he accepted.