The Emperor’s Angel of Death

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"let's start."

Huron's chief sorcerer, Garon Sulet, sent a signal, and the eighteen sorcerers immediately drew their sacrificial knives and held them high.

At the same time as they acted, a dozen incense burners shaped into beast mouths full of twisted fangs spit out aromas, filling the dimly lit temple interior,

Huron strode to the center of the circle, leaving his bodyguards on standby, standing shoulder to shoulder in Terminator attire, genetically enhanced bodies wrapped in thick ceramic steel armor, the color of the armor. Like frozen blood.

They were silent, occasionally breathing thick smoke through their helmets, and Huron came all the way to his place, deeply scarred by the brutal wars of the past, rubies shot from within his enchanted armor A dim light like this illuminated his face from below, looking terrifyingly evil, an iron ring symbolizing chaos replaced the iron halo of former glory, a huge cruel power claw was installed on his right arm, and a large number of segmented cables pierced into him. Dead muscles at the base of his neck and temples, and occasionally twitching as he walked—he should have died, but survived through depraved sorcery.

"Praise the gods, bless my soul,"

As the ceremony began, Garon Sulet began to recite the incantation, a dark, cadenced incantation that dimmed the light from the brazier in the temple, and then the shadows began to jump and crawl.

Immediately afterwards, the wizard stopped in front of the copper plate, raised his sword, and dragged it on the palm of his power armor.

When the blade slid across the palm, black blood dripped out, hissing like acid, and dripped into the sacrificial blood pool.

"Original wind, pass on my voice!"

Galon Soulette shouted, reality trembling with the words, and his followers repeated their prayers in horror, grim, cruel.

At this point the blade in the wizard's hand began to make a screeching noise, hovering on the fringes of perception, unsettlingly.

Garon Sulet strives to maintain his focus and control the growing warp wind, because of the timeless nature of Chaos, even the most skilled wizards must be very careful and cautious when running large-scale rituals. Mistakes can have catastrophic consequences.

This is also the reason why Word Bearers are not very good at psionics, but they are very good in the Chaos Domain. Their mastery of Chaos rituals and demonic knowledge can ensure that they are far safer than others when performing large-scale warp rituals. There are many, and even Qianzi is not as good as them at this point.

"Sacrifice!"

With a roar from Garon Sulet, the other wizards immediately waved their knives outward, and one by one the daggers made their own chaotic sounds that sounded terrifying and restless, and eventually became There was a beautiful carnival, followed by the jagged blade cutting the throat of the kneeling slave.

Some of the sacrifices let out pitiful screams before their windpipes were sawed open, before a torrential rain of blood sprayed into the brass pans.

Then Huron felt something gushing out of nothingness in the air, wet the twitching, scratching offerings, and flowed into the wicked plate, mingling with the blood at the very center.

Huron's cruel little pet, Hamadria, also jumped at his feet with excitement and barked sharply.

At the heart of the ritual, the blood swirls and echoes the octet of Chaos as Garon Sulet continues his litany of Chaos.

The blood starts out slowly swirls around the pool of blood like wine in a balloon glass, and as more and more blood is in the plate, the sorcerer's chant gets louder, louder, and swirling. The speed is also getting faster.

Soon, it spiraled upwards into a swirling column of blood, and as the sacrifices drained their blood and writhing their last moments of life, the ghost fire jumped into the blood pool and coiled around the blood tip.