The Emperor’s Angel of Death

"Looks like they've prepared a tough dish for me."

Retreating to avoid the sweeping Oath of War and two beams of destruction, Amun'nak's eyes met only impassive metal faces and eerie green eyes.

Yet, despite being surrounded, he remained calm, his sword like flowing clouds, slicing through several cold faces in seconds.

As the Triarch Praetorians fell, lightning flickered and danced across their broken bodies.

At that moment, the blade seemed to become an extension of Amun'nak's will.

Although the Triarch Praetorians had the advantage in numbers, all of them seemed to be fighting a single enemy at the same time.

Amun'nak's figure was both real and illusory, as swift as light and lightning, defying even the supernatural reactions of the Triarch Praetorians.

But the real threat was clearly not them.

Just as Amun'nak used his two swords to fend off a dozen attacking Triarch Praetorians, a shadow suddenly emerged from the ruins beneath his feet.

Amun'nak pretended not to notice its approach.

He waited until it was close, then turned, sliding his left-hand sword in his palm to slam the hilt into a Triarch Praetorian's weapon.

Suddenly, the ground burst open with tremendous force, and a Flayed Lord, shrouded in gray mist with only its two pairs of eyes gleaming brightly, appeared, swinging its hyperphase swords.

Amun'nak dodged to the side, twisting his wrist to block the creature's claws, then drifted like a gust of wind to its side, thrusting his right-hand sword in a fierce strike that hit the Flayed Lord's head.

A series of crackling energies erupted from his blade, igniting dark black flames that shattered the Flayed Lord's shadowy shroud and pushed back the surrounding Triarch Praetorians.

The Flayed Lord crashed to the ground from the blow, emitting a deafening shriek as Amun'nak split its head open with his sword, while its long tail wrapped around Amun'nak's arm.

Amidst the Flayed Lord's dying scream, scythe-shaped light waves surged from the Triarch Praetorians' weapons, causing even the universe to groan.

It was an all-encompassing attack; the Flayed Lord burned to ashes in the destructive light, and everything around it turned to slag.

But not Amun'nak.

He reappeared behind a landing Triarch Praetorian, his blade slicing through, and the head flew off.

However, he was not in good shape; his armor was battered, his skin bore obvious signs of burning, and in some of the burned-through areas, silver blood could be seen flowing.

Suddenly, a powerful flash of light descended from the sky—so bright it was like a miniature sun.

Although he was already wary of the three Technomagi, knowing was one thing, acting was another.

The moment Amun'nak dodged, he heard the sound of metal bursting.

The next moment, the world before him transformed into a whirlwind of aetheric lightning.

The three Aethermancers had created a field of destruction specifically for him.

Even with Amun'nak's agility, he couldn't completely avoid these supernatural energies.

An explosion struck him from the right, sending him flying.

Amun'nak hit the ground, rolled, and bounced off a hard object.

But he probably had only a moment, the briefest instant.

He quickly stood up, his sword thrusting violently, piercing a Triarch Praetorian who was raising an Oath Staff from the right.

But his situation was not optimistic, because without dealing with the three Technomagi, there was no chance of victory, but the Triarch Praetorians seemed endless, and it would take a long time to kill them one by one with his sword alone.

But time…

Suddenly, the earth trembled violently, and huge walls of fire rose, as if the end of the world had arrived.

A concentrated, powerful force and a burst of invisible heat instantly obliterated the three Technomagi in mid-air.

Then, silence, Amun'nak could only hear his own breathing.

The burning ruins crackled and groaned around him, like an iceberg about to collapse, and it could indeed collapse at any moment, burying him.

After a moment, the magnificent figure appeared in the sky, with a god-like majesty.

Amun'nak narrowed his eyes.

"Sotha Sil, are you... still there?"

There was no answer, but Amun'nak saw a huge hole appear in his chest, and it was still expanding, with golden ribbons with mysterious symbols extending from it, wrapping it tightly in its struggle.

At the same time, a dazzling flame spewed out of the sky, rolling outward like a huge arc, engulfing the surrounding Triarch Praetorians and all the Necrons, even causing the two evil moons in the sky to shake, and tiny, imperceptible gaps appeared.

Then light and heat struck Amun'nak simultaneously, but he did not dodge, but reached out his hand.

He caught Sotha Sil the moment he fell to the ground in his restored human form.

Looking at the unconscious Sotha Sil, Amun'nak breathed a sigh of relief and muttered to himself:

"It seems Anan prepared, thankfully."

However, when he looked up and saw many slender figures appearing in the flame-distorted distance, he realized that he might face bigger problems later.

How to leave?

"If there were not something infinite, something profound, something true in mortality, we would not cling to life, but originally whether life or death, was glorious...However, when those who claim to be gods were born, neither life nor death was glorious."

The white-robed king he had cut into several pieces appeared again, strolling across the sea of ​​fire, but Amun'nak knew this was just a puppet.

"I will not hurt him, just hope my friend fulfills his promise to help us cross the boundary between life and death."

Amun'nak had a mocking smile on his face.

"Do you know what Sotha Sil likes to call you? Dead, leftover, seed."

The moment the last word was uttered, the sky and earth suddenly darkened, the two evil moons in the sky disappeared, followed by the cawing of crows, with a soul-stirring roar, and a tooth-aching friction sound, as if claws were scratching across a smooth marble surface.

Just a few seconds later, everything returned to normal, but Amun'nak and Sotha Sil had disappeared.

"...Not surprising."

The white-robed king walked to the wreckage of the previous "self", watched the ground of metal fragments neatly cut into thumb-sized pieces, then bent down and picked up the only complete mask.

"It would be surprising if that lump of salted meat playing with witchcraft was indifferent."

"Your Majesty, are you just going to let him go?"

Hearing the low and deep voice behind him, the king shook his head.

"The time is not yet ripe, this time the goal has been achieved, Menerkh will no longer be troubled by the Flayer curse."

"What should be arranged next?"

"You can arrange it yourself, destruction, conquest, Szarekh must have his own ideas, I no longer restrain you, you can choose your own path, I have other things to deal with."

Saying that, he turned and left, disappearing into the embers of the ruins.